


The Hood

by FeatherLight



Series: The Hood [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Explicit Language, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, More tags later, Slow Build, Stiles-centric, Supernatural Elements, bamf everyone really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7551268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatherLight/pseuds/FeatherLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon Divergence from S2 onward: At the end of one summer, Stiles returns to Beacon Hills after a sudden trip to summer camp, bearing the weight of secrets that cannot be explained so simply. As Stiles tries to regain footing at home again, his two worlds start to blur, complicating his attempt to find his place in Beacon Hills and in the pack. And no one can sense this change in Stiles more acutely than Derek whose path, as Stiles knows very well, would be so deeply entwined with his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve wanted to write this for a while now, I guess I just never got around to really getting to it. It’s supposed to be coming off of S2, but the situation kind of goes into its own crazy, so the setting is ambiguous and canon divergent in the sense that all the original mains are present. There’ll be lots of changes from canon here, familiar names and faces to Teen Wolf, but with different stories behind them. How that all works out, well…I’ll leave that to you to figure. (This is what we do, right? We aggressively ignore canon because fuck canon that’s why?)
> 
> All the same, this is basically just an overgrown flight of fancy, shameless self indulgence as fanfiction tends to be. Note: This fic is mostly Gen, and predominantly Stiles-centric though it does feature other angles, and overall, this fic will be rather tedious if you don't enjoy slow-burn Sterek, which it really is because my writing muse is an ass that way, but I just needed to let you know early about this fic going in.
> 
> I know there’s way more amazing fics out there (I’ve read nearly all of them, I am THAT obsessed about this life-ruining ship, ISTG), so that said, I’m grateful you’re even here to take a look. Comments/reviews/kudos not necessary. Just hoping you enjoy yourselves while waiting for other fics or WIPs to update and such.

#  **Prologue**

 

_One week from the beginning of camp_

 

“It’s not here!” Stiles yelled, coughing through the dust.

“I think I remember it being next to the uh—what was that—the old air compressor!” his dad called back from the top of the stairs.

“It’s not there, dad!” Stiles groaned, maybe a little too dramatically even for his own standards. “Didn’t you lend the barbecue to Deputy Mills last summer?!” Stiles coughed as he pulled off the covers of shapeless items in the musty basement of their home. He tugged on boxes of varying degrees of heaviness—one particularly heavy one taking him by surprise and nearly dropping it on his toes. “Remember, he took it to the police picnic and poured like a bottle of lighter fluid on the—”

“I remember real well, Stiles,” his father replied dryly. “Dan’s eyebrows took a month to grow back.”

“Did you know it’s actually a myth that blond hair grows slower than dark hair? Everybody says that it does, but several genetic factors apart from hair color actually—”

“Stiles—” his father took the tone of someone aware of the signs of Stiles preparing to derail the conversation for the next two hours, “—just look for the barbecue, son.”

Stiles grumbled to himself but good-naturedly returned to searching for that old barbecue. The Sheriff wanted to clean it out and make it fit for the coming summer, and that was always when the police force’s annual barbecue happened, and Stiles could already remember the smell of burgers, hotdogs and chicken getting cooked to coal when everyone inevitably began talking too much to one another to remember they were there.

And then there was the memorable summer when everyone was glad the fire department was invited to the party, because of the aforementioned lighter fluid incident—

“Stiles, you realize you’re talking out loud?”

“I gotta stop doing that,” Stiles laughed to himself, shaking his head as he wandered past the old lawnmower and sacks of decorative pebbles that used to line the flower beds that Stiles’ mother used to tend. _I broadcast enough, and there’s too many werewolves in Beacon Hills with freaky werewolf super-hearing._

“And rob us of every shining thought passing through your mind?” The Sheriff asked, but not unkindly, a fond smile from the top of the basement steps.

“Aww, dad, you know me so well,” Stiles grinned back up at him, almost proud. “You beat me to the punch on that—”

In a cloud of dust, Stiles vanished into the darkness and felt his bottom lip split open when it made impact onto concrete.

“Stiles?!” The Sheriff called, alarmed, preparing to descend the steps.

“I’m good!” Stiles yelled back, scrambling to detangle himself from the dusty sheets. “I’m fine! Just snagged on something!” He coughed at the cloud that hit his face. “We gotta do spring cleaning or something down here, dad—”

Distantly, Sheriff Stilinski remarked that Stiles might feel up to doing exactly that, instead of vanishing at odd hours with Scott and their strange new coterie of friends that they’d suddenly developed, but his voice sounded distant to Stiles’ ears.

Sitting with his ass on the cold concrete, dusty sheet covers tangled around his ankles, he stared into the darkness wondering if he was seeing things. Not a foot away from his sneaker toes was what appeared to be an old wooden coffer. He vaguely remember it having been in his mother’s room at some point. In fact, he remembered being quite small and having to climb on top of it in order to reach her dresser and curiously poke around the odd fragrant and colorful things that her mother kept on her vanity table.

_Stiles_ , he could still his mother saying with a laugh as he had knocked a perfume over trying to reach for a music box on her dresser, _Be careful, sweetie, or you’ll fall off it!_

Stiles reached out to touch it, marveling at how old it must be. He had never noticed such a thing when he was young, but the chest was dinged and scratched and worn with age. He smiled to himself when he saw his mother’s crude etching of her initials at one corner of the coffer, made much in the same way that a bored teenager would do on a school desk.

Holding the flashlight between his teeth (the basement bulb had been dark for months after the time Stiles accidentally smashed it with a lacrosse stick), Stiles scrambled to find the latches. He’d always loved this part about the chest: you had to put both hands under the edge of the lid to feel some cleverly-made switches there, and you unclasped them as you raised the lid. He remembered being too small to unlatch both on his own the first time, and his mother helped him lift it.

When the coffer opened, his eyes began to well up in spite of himself. Not because of dust, but because it opened with the scent of his mother’s perfume. The scent that still lingered in her clothes in the dresser, if Stiles tried hard enough to notice. Sometimes he wanted to ask Scott when he’d come over, if he could smell it with his brand new werewolf senses, to see if it was still really there or if he was just imagining it was. He never really managed to ask, but this— _this_ , he decided—was definitely here. White heather.

“Stiles?” Silence was never a good thing with Stiles and the Sheriff was well aware of it. “You alright there, son?”

 “Yeah, yeah!” Stiles quickly responded, distracted by the discovery. “I found that old chest, the one I kept climbing on!” Reaching into the chest, he pulled out a handful of musty items. An old bottle of her hand lotion, some old pictures of her and his dad on vacation when they were younger (“Dad, that _mullet_ , oh god I am putting this on the station breakroom corkboard—” “Stiles, what have you got there?!”), old pens, worn out paperback books full of margin scribbles that Stiles recognized with familial sympathy were quite like his when he doodled during a particularly mind-numbing Harris class.

He laughed softly to himself as he looked at these things, a smile on his face. He knew all of his mother’s things by heart, the pieces of her presence that remained in the room his father occupied. But these things have been put away for a while now, long before she spent her hospital days, and it was like meeting her again unexpectedly—a spectre of her in heather-scented dust in the basement.

“Stiles?” His father called, a little more urgently now. His footfalls sounded on the wooden steps.

“Yeah?” He asked distractedly, reaching in for more treasures. His hands touched something cool, and smooth, like slippery silken cloth. When he pulled it free from whatever else was in the chest, he figured (and somehow hoped) that it was his mother’s wedding dress, or another memento of hers.

Squinting in the darkness, Stiles adjusted the flashlight as he held it up. It wasn’t a dress. It was a light, scarlet material, a little worn with time but still clean. Pulling it completely free from the coffer as he stood, it was long, nearly to the ground. He felt something metal in it, a soft weight of what felt like a clasp. Turning it in his hands, he realized: it was a red hooded cloak.

Staring at it in amazement, he touched the metal clasp of it, the beautifully ornate carving of it, aged with time. What was it, he wondered, rubbing it with a thumb, pulling it closer. Like a celtic knot or maybe an insignia…?

A crackle sizzled through his fingertips and jolted him, the flashlight clattering to the floor. The bolt flooded through his veins like a painful injection—racing up his very blood vessels and through his every nerve, branching out over his body. His breath was flushed out of his lungs and he was caught in that moment that felt like falling when you’re sleeping.

_Stiles!_ He heard his mother’s laugh echoing in his blood, a streak of red flashing over his eyes. _That’s too big for you!_

“ _Mom_ …?” Stiles gasped for air.

_When you’re older, sweetheart, I promise you’ll wear it._

That crackle of energy, sparking over his skin—it burned through him like a lightning strike in the gloom. It locked itself deep into his chest—a moment of intense, searing pain—and it evaporated as quickly as it happened.

“Stiles!”

He whirled around in shock, coming awake and clutching the cape in his hands, heart pounding. His father stood there, beaming a flashlight onto him, looking alarmed.

“Dad,” Stiles breathed. He looked at the cape in his hands that he was crumpling into his fists. “Did you—I was just—” He scrambled to reassure him, something he assumed he would be able to do given his lying about werewolves on a daily basis. “This thing—”

“Son.” The sheriff put a hand over his as though trying to calm him down. It did nothing for his heart rate, every beat painful. “Breathe, Stiles. Breathe.”

It felt like a panic attack. Here in the basement with his mother’s perfume clinging to the red cloth, with his heart in his throat and something squeezing in his chest. He shut his eyes and remembered that laugh. “I was just—”

“Just breathe, son,” his father said firmly, a strange look on his face as he squeezed the hands that held onto the cloak. “Look at me. It’s going to be alright.” He paused, and added almost too softly, “…I can explain everything.”

For the first time in a long time, Stiles found himself completely dumbstruck. “…what?”

The Sheriff looked somber as he nodded to the cloak in Stiles’ hands. “That hood. …I can explain what happened.”

“What are you…?” Stiles stared at him, finally feeling his heart rate start slowing. He put his other hand over his father’s. “What do you mean? This thing? What is this…? What did…it _do_ to me when I…?”

“I know, I know.” His father shook his head. “That…it happens. She told me that might happen when you were older…stronger. Just…it would happen when it was time.”

“She…? Time…?” Stiles searched his father’s face, perplexed. “…mom told you…?”

“Come upstairs with me,” the Sheriff sighed, gently coaxing his son back up the staircase. “It might be a bit of a long story.”

Stiles followed his father like someone sleepwalking, but he stopped after a few steps. He needed to know what just happened. Why his father’s face looked so serious, what he meant about his mother. And why there was this old hood in his mother’s old coffer. He needed to know. He could take this news. He had seen Scott become a werewolf, he’d seen Derek become the powerful alpha they were all scrambling to keep up with. He’d seen Erica, Boyd, and Isaac become turned. He’d seen Allison become a huntress. He had seen Lydia raise the dead. He’d seen the battles, faced off with Peter and got himself tortured. He’d seen _Jackson_ turn into a giant scaly lizard.

Whatever it was, he could take it. He needed to know.

“Dad,” Stiles said, standing at the foot of the steps, staring at his father. “…tell me what’s going on.”

The Sheriff sighed, hanging his head for a moment. Then he looked at his son, and Stiles felt as though he was looking as though they were about to lose something.

“It’s about your mother, son. And that hood. And you. It’s time.”

Stiles heard his mother’s laugh in his ears again.

_I promise you’ll wear it._


	2. Leaving Breadcrumbs

#  **Leaving Breadcrumbs**

 

PRESENT DAY: _End of summer._ _First night back in Beacon Hills._

 

“Welcome back, son…” his father muttered against his head as they shared a tight hug at the doorway. Apart from the porch light, everything was black. It had been a starless night over Beacon Hills, the moon’s light just a patch of glimmer behind the overcast clouds, and the sight of his home’s welcoming waiting light had been like the end of the tunnel for him.

Stiles embraced his father tightly in return, a bone-deep exhaustion settling in him; one that he did not allow himself to feel until this moment. He knew from the way his father looked at him that he must have looked terrible. And he knew from the way his father was dressed that there would be no time for talking tonight. The Sheriff was about to leave for duty tonight.

“You heading out?” Stiles asked, a little hoarse, staring at him as he entered the house with all his things, drinking in the sight of home and his father. It had been far too long for him, and he had worried about his father endlessly.

“Yeah, I have to,” The Sheriff nodded, taking some of Stiles’ luggage and setting them in the house for him, but Stiles nudged his father away and carried most of it himself. His father seemed crushed that he had to leave now, and the way he looked at Stiles made the boy realize how much his father had missed seeing him. “Listen, if you don’t feel up to getting to school yet tomorrow, you—”

“Nah…” Stiles smiled tiredly at his father. “Nah, I wanna go in. I want to see Scott and everyone else. I want to be back.”

His father searches his face for a long moment, as though trying to find some answers in his son’s face. But all the Sheriff saw out of Stiles was the exhaustion of the long drive. “I made dinner, alright? It’s in the fridge, heat it up and eat something, you look…”

“Actually…” Stiles scratched his head and looked at his father with a tired smile, “…I just want to crash. It’s been a long drive. I need to hit the hay real bad, I mean I’m just glad I didn’t get into any accidents on the road—I kid. I  _ kid _ .” He stared wide-eyed at the expression on his father’s face.

The Sheriff stared at his son a little longer and shook his head with a fond, relieved smile. “I’m just glad you’re back, son. We’ll talk about how camp went tomorrow, alright? I want to know all about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles nodded, smiling tiredly. “Definitely. Gonna have a long…” he gestured absently, “bonding heart to heart about the adventures, misadventures, failures and achievements, all of it. Long story. You gotta get going.”

The Sheriff was still unsure as he stood lingering at the door. “Are you sure you’ll be alright by your—”

“Dad.” This time, Stiles’ tone was its disbelieving tone, a smirk on his lips. “Seriously. I just came back from camp. You’re seriously asking me that.”

“I was just  _ making sure _ ,” Sheriff Stilinski replied emphatically, a knowing look in his eyes as he looked over his son affectionately. “I’ll let you hold down the fort, then.”

“I’ve got this, dad,” Stiles winked. “Don’t worry.”

“I’ll always worry about what you’ll get yourself into,” his dad sighed.

His father had only gone a couple steps before Stiles launched himself again at him and hugged him tight. “I missed you, dad,” Stiles huffed against his father’s sleeve. “I honestly did. I’m glad to be home. We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” the Sheriff replied, voice gruff to hide his emotion but it leaked through anyway, patting his son’s back heavily. “I'm glad to have you back, Stiles. I’m so happy you’re alright. You made it back, and honestly...that’s all I care about.” He held his son tightly for a few more moments before sending him off. “Go on, get some sleep.”

“See you tomorrow, dad.”

Stiles watched his father get into the car, standing there for a long moment until the taillights had vanished into the darkness. He took a deep breath, released it, and headed inside. Shutting the door, he pressed his palm against it for a moment.

_ …finally home. It’s finally over _ .

His other hand, in a loose fist by his side, was trailing a stream of mountain ash onto the floor. His fingertips felt that crackle—the spark of energy. He hauled himself up off the door and dragged himself across the house. He only paused to pull up his bags again, and then he was turning out the lights as he headed on upstairs. Under his feet, ash crunched, and continued to trail as he headed upstairs.

Inside his room, everything was dark, but the place was clean. As though his father had been coming in while he was gone to keep the place as though he’d come home at any time in the middle of the summer.

_ But I didn’t, _ Stiles thought to himself in marked amusement, dropping his bags and barely making the effort to actually unpack.  _ I made it _ .

His phone dinged in his pocket. He fished his phone out while emptying his pockets and bags onto the side-table, distantly wondering if the message was from any of his friends; maybe they had heard that he was back. 

Staring blearily at the notification, at the little red circle before the name of the sender, Stiles let out his breath almost in exasperation and put the phone away.

_ Not tonight,  _ he thought as he shuffled out of his shoes and clothes. He sank into the bed like a stone, not even bothering to get under the covers.  _ Not here. Not right now. Tonight I’m home. _

Silence filled the entire house. The mountain ash dust on the ground gleamed faintly. And the dust seemed to ‘run’, speeding into the cracks of the floor, on every entryway and sill. They ran rapidly to every possible entryway, forming a gleaming line, finally sealing the entire house, before they settled darkly.

And somewhere, distantly, in the faintest of ways, Stiles heard a small crack. 

The single sound felt like it triggered in his consciousness like a gunshot, demanding attention. It could have been anything. It was coming from outside. It could be something and it could be nothing. But Stiles decided that whatever it was that threatened outside, he just wasn’t going to deal with it tonight. The house was sealed. Nothing was coming in.

His spidery hand felt around the side table where he had dropped his things, until he found his headphones. Pulling them on and blearily swiping at his phone, the sound of white noise came from the earphones. It drowned everything out, blocking the entire world, blocking even his intrusive thoughts.

_ Finally _ , Stiles breathed, closing his eyes and allowing his body to surrender to sleep. 

 

And standing outside, on the road and looking up at the window of Stiles’ room, Derek glared at the darkness of it. The house was sealed. Nothing was coming in. And now, for some reason, he could hear nothing from the house either.

Not even Stiles. Stiles who he had watched arrive, watched stand at the doorway until his father was gone, and vanished into the house. And after the white noise began, Derek heard nothing else in the house.

Somewhere far away, in the back of his mind, he wondered if he could feel Stiles’ heartbeat. That instinctual sense that Alphas had to those who could be considered members of their pack. 

But he had told Stiles before—he wasn’t a part of that pack. Maybe in not so many words, but he certainly made it evident. And maybe that was why he couldn’t hear anything…however much he wanted to hear the sound of his heart beating, reminding Derek that Stiles had returned.

Clenching his fists, Derek forced himself to walk away from the house, away from the deafening silence of it, willing himself to believe that however strange all of that was—Stiles was alright. 

  
  


STILL PRESENT DAY:  _ First day back at Beacon Hills. _

 

The raucous rumble was building wonderfully, as the return of a stampede tended to do, and Stiles heard the returning students even before school fully came to view over the dashboard of his Jeep. Waiting for a crowd of students to move past the road, he drummed his fingers tensely over the steering wheel, glancing at himself in the rearview mirror. He saw himself, still rather pale, dark circles around his eyes from the exhaustion.

_ You’re fine _ , he told himself, his mind once again running through too many scenarios and possibilities of how this day was going to go, and many of them involved public humiliation, getting officially kicked out of a pack that he didn’t even understand if he was  _ officially _ a part of to begin with, and other similarly horrific scenarios. 

_ I look fine. Everything’s fine _ .  _ This is home. Everything is okay. I’m going to go back to school, see Scott—OH GOD, SCOTT. SHIT, SCOTT WILL KNOW, WE’VE KNOWN EACH OTHER FOREVER AND HE’LL TAKE ONE LOOK AT ME AND HE’LL  _ **_KNOW A_ ** _ — _

The deafening honk of a horn behind the jeep broke him from his thoughts and he jumped nearly a foot into the air, smacking his hand on the window. “Oh god!” He glanced around for a moment and hastily drove forward, headed to an empty spot to park in. 

It wasn’t until he was at full stop with the engine off did he take a couple of seconds to breathe. Holding onto the steering wheel, he closed his eyes and breathed. Willing his heart rate to slow, he focused himself.  _ It’s alright,  _ he told himself, like a mantra.  _ It’ll be alright. Just take it day by day. You can handle this.  You can do this. Focus. It’s time. _

“I can do this…” Stiles breathed as he stepped out of the jeep. Feet firmly on the ground, he looked up at the school and let out his breath. “I can do this.”

“Do what?”

Stiles was smiling before he even turned around. There was the familiar lopsided smile of his best friend, standing there, helmet tucked under his arm and having just stepped away from his bike. “About time you got back here,” Scott grinned. He threw his arms open. “Welcome back, man!”

“Scotty!” Stiles was laughing before he knew it and practically launched himself on Scott, knowing that he was squeezing the very breath out of him, but doesn’t care. He’d missed him and Beacon Hills too much. “Oh man, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Nice bike.”

A burst of surprised laughter came from the werewolf. “Whoa!” Scott exclaimed as he struggled to hug back; Stiles’ hug was like a vise around his arms, “You missed me that much over a few months, man?” 

“Please, you missed me right back, you texted a billion times about space and Allison,” Stiles snorted, hugging even tighter at the familiar, reassuring sight of his earnest best friend. 

Scott grunted as he patted Stiles’ back. “It was  _ not _ a billion times. And you barely answered! Like you evaporated! If you missed me that much, you should’ve stayed here instead of summer camp, man!”

Stiles only hugged tighter, closing his eyes. “I had to go to camp, you know that, man.” 

“Yeah, I know, s’fine man, I had summer school too, I get ya.” Scott made a face of someone who was starting to feel some discomfort, and some pain. “Uh, been working out, dude?”

Blanching, Stiles abruptly released him, managing a laugh. “Yeah I mean come on. Being in the mountains for so long, climbing up and down, doing all that work, and all the…activities, it was really rough! Rough _ ing _ it, I mean, the whole thing, it was, uh…” Stiles shrugged absently. “Well anyone would get a workout.”

Scott cocked his head at him in a manner that reminded Stiles very strongly of a puppy. He knew Scott probably wasn’t doing it on purpose, along with checking his heartbeat as werewolves tended to, given how much stronger Scott was becoming. After a charitable moment of consideration, Scott replied, “You do look a little more…filled out.” He gestured to Stiles’ shoulders.

“Yeah?” Stiles stared, awkwardly hitching up his backpack a little, carefully hunching himself.

“But not like, like…” Scott added quickly, thinking Stiles wasn’t pleased about it, “Not like in a wolfy way or anything, not like me, or even Derek, just…y’know, just a bit more broad, some muscle there.” Scott started walking to the school, and Stiles shuffled after him. “Meanwhile I guess Derek’s really gone for the whole ‘I’m The Alpha’ sort of thing…” he rolled his eyes.

At the name, Stiles looked up at Scott. “Derek? You’ve seen Derek?”

Scott shrugged absently as he hitched up his backpack too, heading up the steps. “Not really. He seemed really busy these days, I barely saw him. I saw him talking to Deaton once though. He’d bulked up some. But I guess he has to keep up appearances.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, eyes narrowing. “What’s been happening?”

Scott shook his head a little sadly. “Guess being an Alpha hasn’t been going so well. Erica and Boyd…remember how they apparently were leaving the pack?”

“And then Allison shot arrows at them like, a lot, and the Argents sort of tortured them?” Stiles grumbled and ignored the way Scott swatted at his shoulder. No, Scott doesn’t get to gloss over that one no matter how in love he is with Allison. He’s pretty sure not even Allison herself has glossed over that one—hard to get over learning you’ve been manipulated by your own grandfather after all.

Scott continued, “Yeah well, but they full on disappeared. Like, completely. Derek’s mentioned that he has the feeling they’re not okay, says he can sense something is wrong. He’s been trying to find them, and he’s got Isaac and Jackson helping him. I tried to help but…it’s not like Derek and I really get along.” Scott huffed a little. “He’s been downright hostile while you were gone. He’s like...echoing off what the animals in Beacon Hills are doing.”

“What do  you mean?”

“They’re scared. Erratic.” Scott shook his head. “I must’ve been called into Deaton’s over a dozen times to have to help calm down animals that have been straying from their usual ground. It’s like they’re scared of something. There’s something in the woods spooking them and I think it’s getting to Derek too.”

_ Animals… _ Stiles thought distantly, frowning. 

“Of course,” Scott now added, “This could also just be Derek’s general mood. I mean I  _ get _ that he’s Alpha, but he’s really drilling it in. He’s making Isaac fall in line so hard, I think he’s scared half the time, and Jackson gets moodier than ever after being out with them. And Derek hates it when I question him or the things he does. He thinks I’m not any help to him at all.”

“Yeah…? How come…?” Stiles asked distantly, looking away as he tried to process this. 

Being gone as long as he had, he realized that he really didn’t know how much was actually going on behind the texts that had been sent along to him every now and again. Animals freaking out and scared? Being hostile and volatile? Erica and Boyd were missing…? And Derek forcing the reins as the Alpha…? Something definitely isn’t right.

“I mean, I’m not saying I haven’t been distracted,” Scott added, oblivious to Stiles. “I’ve had the summer school and working and saving money, and then that thing with Allison… I did  _ help _ when I could, I  _ offered _ to help because I wasn’t about to let Erica and Boyd just go missing or just…maybe  _ not care _ if something bad was lurking around. And I don’t like how he’s treating Isaac. But Derek just growls and tells me I’m getting in the way.”

Stiles snorted a little. “Kind of a flip from when he was trying so hard to get you into the pack?”

“Yeah well, I tried to find out things on my own for a while, and I think that’s what’s made him mad,” Scott reasoned. “I think he doesn’t like that I’m basically not in line with him as the Alpha, and thinks if I’m too stupid to understand that, he doesn’t need me.” Scott made a face.

“You know, Scotty…” Stiles began carefully, choosing his words for once, “…if you keep playing Miss Independent, you’re going to end up an Omega, you know? Not that that’s a bad thing,” he quickly added, patting Scott’s shoulders heavily, “I mean, for example: Beyonce. But honestly, I’m just thinking that this problem you guys have been trying to work out…doesn’t sound like the kind of thing that can be fixed on your own.”

“Well I’m not on my own now, right?” Scott grinned broadly at him, earnest as they stopped at their lockers. “I’ve got you with me!”

Stiles had to grin at that. “Well that’s true. You do have me. Always will, buddy.”

Scott punched his arm lightly, face lit with that infectious grin of his. “Yeah, we got this. Well…whatever  _ it _ is. Don’t suppose you got any ideas?” He added hopefully.

“About what’s going on in town that’s gotten Derek’s pants in a twist and what happened to Erica and Boyd? Man, you gotta give me more info than that,” Stiles snorted, shoving his things into his locker. “I’m the one who hasn’t been around town when all this was going on, right?”

“That’s true,” Scott frowned, looking contemplative. Then he looked up. “Maybe we can ask Danny.”

“ _ Danny _ ?” Stiles stared at him, twitching.

“Well…” Scott shifted awkwardly. “So you know how I’m no help, apparently? Well, according to Isaac, Danny  _ is _ . Isaac said Jackson said he talked Derek into getting Danny’s help in looking things up and following leads. I guess Danny’s doing okay, because Derek let him.”

“Derek…let  _ Danny _ …help look for  _ werewolves _ .” Stiles enunciated every word with all the weight it deserved. “ _ Danny _ . And Derek just… _ let him _ .” 

Unbelievable. Stiles slammed his door closed and started walking, a little in shock, a little outraged. For all that Derek snarled and gruffed, and ranted that he didn’t want Stiles involved, implying that he doesn’t consider Stiles of any purpose other than the occasional research and pointing out repeatedly that he’s human and that he was unsuitable for the sort of  _ midnight excursions _ he and his pack of hormone-driven teen werewolves were getting up to… he goes and just lets  _ Danny _ in and do it. And with  _ Jackson’s  _ encouragement at that.

He didn’t know if he wanted to scream or just tell all the wolves (except for Scott) exactly where to get off. After what he had just put himself through to prove to…well, mostly and primarily himself, partially to Derek, partially the rest of the so-called ‘pack’, that he could be a useful and actually downright strong member of this ragtag little club—he comes back to  _ this _ ?! 

“You weren’t around!” Scott protested, even though he was pretty sure this wasn’t his fault, following him. “Believe me, if you were here, you’d be the person doing all that! Danny wasn’t supposed to be involved, but it turns out that he knew things already! Something about Jackson being too thick to really keep a secret like weekly trainings with Derek. So they let him do it instead, especially since Lydia got mad because of all the other stuff and wanted nothing to do with it all… “ Scott gestured helplessly. “But trust me, you’re like, the go-to when it’s this sort of thing! The first person Derek wanted to go to was  _ you _ !”

Stiles stopped. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” Scott sighed, looking as though it pained him to have to say all this. “It happened after you left. Like literally the day after. Derek showed up in the morning, demanding to know where you were, because apparently he knew you weren’t home. I told him you went to summer camp, and that you’ll be gone a few months. I asked him why he was looking for you and he said something about needing your help with something but then he just left.”

The Stiles before the summer would have found this tidbit of information warming. Even flattering. It could have planted in him a small sense of belonging, even the idea that maybe Derek didn’t quite see him as the human pariah to his merry men (and woman) of wolf cubs.

But  _ this _ Stiles, the Stiles after summer, couldn’t bring himself to consider those things at the moment. They were a comfort at the back of his mind, sure, but the alternatives were too pressing. His throat went dry, and he swallowed thickly as he stopped Scott. “What did he do after that?”

But Scott only shrugged. “I actually don’t know, I didn’t ask. I mean if he was just going to use you for research when it’s convenient to him, I wasn’t about to help him out or anything.” He studied the odd look on Stiles’ face. “Why?”

Stiles just shook his head. “Nothing. It’s probably nothing. He went back to his den and brooded, I’m sure.”

“Look,” Scott was the one who stopped Stiles from walking this time. “Is there something…going on here?”

If it was possible, Stiles’ throat dried further. “What?”

“You and Derek,” Scott stared at him.

“What about me and Derek?” Stiles asked, feeling his hands go cold.

“It’s just every time I mention him you start getting…” Scott waggled his hand. “…tense. Did he say things to you while I wasn’t around? Is there something happening with you and him?”

There it was. 

“Something happening” probably was the best way to explain it, Stiles decided. Now if only anyone, including Stiles himself, could pinpoint what exactly “something” was. There was something, that was for sure. But since it was never discussed, or acknowledged, or not even brought to the forefront of consciousness, it may as well be nothing. But there was something. Or at least Stiles thought there was. 

And while Derek remained in the dark about what happened during the camp, it was likely going to stay that way, and for a long time coming, depending on whatever it was Derek himself also knew.

And  _ none of that _ can actually be explained to Scott.

Stiles centered himself and exhaled. His heartbeat slowed to a calm. He stared intently at the werewolf’s eyes. “There’s nothing happening with me and Derek.”

Which was the truth. 

…which felt magnificently like a lie.

Scott narrowed his eyes a little, perhaps trying to gauge how much of that he should believe, but whatever it is Scott had heard, it passed the test, as Stiles knew it would, crushing him to his core. “Well okay… As long as you’re alright, man.”

The first bell rang. Scott looked up, “We gotta go, we’ll talk about camp and everything else at lunch?” He made a double take when a familiar dark head passed by at the end of the hall with a familiar redhead. “We could...like…”

“Yeah, yeah!” Stiles nodded, sensing an opening as Scott was distracted. He closed his hands, to stop his fingers from twitching. “Absolutely. The place was wild man.” He stopped walking and let loose a torrent of words. “Ah shit. I forgot I had to do something. Like maybe possibly ask the administration for credits or extra curriculars from doing time at camp, I mean I’m just trying to get to college here, maybe scholarship and help dad out because have you  _ seen _ those college tuition rates man? And I know it’s totally a long shot or whatever but I told dad I’d try anyway—”

“Yeah yeah, do what you gotta do, buddy,” Scott replied, waving him off a little, still clearly itching to go off in another direction, to follow where his own instincts told him. “I’ll go ahead then…?”

“Yeah, see ya later!” Stiles was already backing away as Scott ambled off, increasing his pace as he left. Stiles watched him dive into the sea of students. Stiles walked backwards a few moments before heading into a different corridor.

The halls emptied as the second bell sounded off. And then silence reigned over the halls.

Stiles looked up, listening carefully, confirming that no one was there. Noiselessly, he moved through the halls, looking for Erica’s locker as his first stop, making sure to steer clear of any teachers who may still be wandering around. As he did, he passed by a bulletin board that had the notices of the two missing Betas pinned to it. 

Stiles stopped and looked at the two photographs. Erica who had overcome so much and stood strong. Boyd who had been the pillar of support that everyone, even Derek, leaned on and trusted. Both of them were Betas growing and becoming more powerful by the day, but that wasn’t why Stiles wanted to find them. It was because in this messed up way here in Beacon Hills and every supernatural shenanigans under the sun, they were his friends. 

And dead or alive, Stiles would find them.

_ Pack’s coming for you,  _ Stiles thought.  _ Hang on a little longer.  _

He reached Erica’s locker easily enough. Admittedly at first, he was concerned that he would find nothing in it. If the police had been looking for the two of them for a while now, if their parents had gone and taken the time to look for them, then there might be nothing in this locker any longer. But if there was the chance he could find one of Erica’s things in here without having to see if anyone else did, and if there were any options  _ other  _ than breaking into where she lived…

(It was still an option, but honestly. Restraint. He did learn  _ some _ restraint over the summer.)

The lock was still on. That was promising. He took it into his hand and closed a fist over it. Basic lock, three number combination, pretty small. Shouldn’t really be a problem. Stiles closed his eyes and centered himself. 

When he opened his eyes again, they were blazing gold, sparks riddling his veins as with a sharp yank, the lock broke apart and into his hand. He stared down at it, letting out his breath. 

_ Note to self. Buy Erica a new lock. _

Inside of the locker sat schoolbooks, notebooks—a few pens and assorted other items that Erica evidently didn’t get around to cleaning out before she and Boyd vanished. They seemed mostly scholarly, impersonal things…until Stiles saw a spare t-shirt on the floor of the locker.  In a moment of recollection, he realized it was the one Erica was wearing when she had her seizure before she turned.  Perfect.

He rapidly tore a strip out of the t-shirt, threw it back into the locker hastily and closed the door. One down. Boyd’s to go. 

And there Stiles wondered, as he moved down the hall, was  _ would _ he be able to use with Boyd? He had been so quiet, and kept to himself, and barely said much. But he had been this strong presence that everyone counted on. But there wasn’t really much he himself truly knew about Boyd’s life other than he played great lacrosse, he worked at the skating rink…and that he was solid and loyal.

Stiles stopped short. He remembered that at one fight, Boyd fought at Derek’s side and had been shot by wolfsbane bullets. Boyd had been told by Derek to escape then, which he did after much pressing. 

…where were those bullets? Had Boyd just taken them out? Surely being injured, he couldn’t have done it himself. But where would he have gone? 

_ The same place Derek took Scott to later on,  _ Stiles realized, heart sinking as he knew what he was going to have to do. _ Deaton’s. _

And he thought today had been going well so far.

  
  


* * *

FLASHBACK:  _ Six days before the camp _

 

He couldn’t take his eyes off it. He was pretty certain he’d been sitting on that couch for the past three hours staring at the fabric in his hands, and he hadn’t moved or done anything else. He was certain his father was getting increasingly worried about it, as he was never ever so  _ still  _ before. But to be fair, his father had also made no move to tell him about how that phone call of his went, and whether or not Stiles’ decision following that talk they had was going to come to anything.

They had talked through the whole night. The Sheriff told the story, and Stiles listened. And true to form, Stiles asked questions. Lots of questions. The Sheriff answered each and every one, but too often, the answers boiled down to “I don’t know” because that was the truth. The Sheriff  _ didn’t _ know, and in some cases never even  _ thought _ about, some of the answers to the questions Stiles managed to lay out. 

Only one place did. And that was where the Sheriff called at around seven in the morning the following day, sleepless after he had exhausted his knowledge on the matter to Stiles.

After Stiles had decided.

Stiles had continued to sit on the couch and stare at his mother’s cloak—“The hood,” his father had called it every time—as his father made some calls. He must not have done it in a while since Stiles could see him rummaging around cupboards and drawers around the house until he went upstairs and finally came down with what looked like an old notebook that had phone numbers on it. Life before smartphones. Amazing.

“Don’t look like that,” his father had sounded amused even though he wasn’t looking at him. “I suppose this was your mother’s way of making sure nobody found things they weren’t meant to.”

Ah yes, Stiles’ mother. He was back to looking at the cloak. She had her way of keeping secrets too. And she had been keeping something big from Stiles, something she was trying to protect him from while he was still young. And to be honest, Stiles couldn’t blame her. After everything he’d seen, after everything he had been through, and all the damage he’d accrued by already being pack-adjacent to Scott, Derek, and all the werewolves and assorted monsters that had tracked into Beacon Hills, he could very easily see how his mother would have tried to protect him from it.

He had been young then when she kept them. He was older now and he still walked into that world unready and winging it, taking things as they came and making it up as he went along. Somehow...he wished she had told him. So he would have been ready. Maybe he would’ve been able to change some things. Been useful for some things. Prevented some of the things that had happened. 

But she hadn’t told him. She kept her secrets.

...And now she was dead, and her secrets that had been hiding in old chests and notebooks, and now unfettered from his father’s lips… her secrets were now Stiles’ to carry.

He didn’t listen to what conversations his father had, or who he had it with on the phone. All his father had said  to him was that if this was what Stiles really wanted, he would “make arrangements” for it. And that “it really was very late to do this, pretty last minute”, but he would try to make it happen. Stiles wondered if this was out of guilt—for not telling him about any of this sooner. 

Honestly, though—how could he have begun?  _ Hey son, so you’re old enough to learn that monsters and things that go roar in the night and other things that could seriously kill you are real, everywhere, somewhere, and your mother ran around in a red hood in the thick of it! _

Stiles wondered idly if he’d come clean about Scott getting bitten and all the werewolf issues early to his father, his father could have seen it as an opening for this conversation. But then...communication with each other had been a little strained since his mother died. 

In the end, they both had secrets. And spilling their guts out about them over one long, slow night had the tendency to make you feel a little guilty about holding them in, especially if they happened to turn out to be related. After the phone call, which seemed to end on a positive note, his father didn’t return to him and instead set about on getting breakfast on the table. Stiles knew he should help, but he couldn’t move.

He kept imagining his mother and all she’d done while wearing this scarlet hood.

His hood now.

There was a squeak of couch springs as his father finally settled in beside him, letting out a breath that was full of relief, exhaustion, and dismay at the same time. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything; there was just the two of them, father and son, sitting on the couch and trying to find their way back to each other following this. It was hard to come up with any more words for once.

“You should eat something,” his father finally said. “Breakfast’s on the table.”

“Yeah…” Stiles nodded and managed a smile at him. “…so what did they say?”

The Sheriff sighed. “Well…they said they’d be very happy to accommodate you. You need to be there for the registration at the end of the week. They…said it was pretty short notice, but it’s not like they don’t have room.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “Not very many of them around, really, huh?”

“There used to be a lot, or so your mom told me,” his father nodded. “She said that in her grandparents’ days, there were tens of thousands of them. By the time she signed up there, the numbers had been going down really quickly. Just…not many of them wanting to get into it, that kind of life. Or just…maybe not enough of them having anyone to pass it down to. I mean…there’s got to be a lot of beings invested in having their kind out of the way.”

“Yeah, I figured…” Stiles nodded. After what he’d seen, most times he was lucky to just be alive. “…they happen to say how many are expected?”

“…apparently, there’ll be only around a few hundred this year...from the whole of the United States.”

Stiles scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Well…damn. Talk about endangered species.”

“Well…from what I understand there’s only one place left functioning as a training ground here in the country,” his father shrugged. “It’s in Mount Shasta.”

Stiles closed his eyes and let out his breath. “…well at least it’s upstate. Not all that far away, really.”

“Yeah.” His father smiled faintly at him. “Your mother went to that one.”

“Old alma mater, huh?” Stiles smiled wryly.

“Well…it’s not really a  _ school _ so to speak…”

“Training camp yeah…I know.” Stiles looked down at the hood. “…did mom ever ask  _ you _ to come with her? Be like her, I mean?”

At that, the Sheriff looked a little amused, a little nostalgic. “You know, I offered to go. I told Claudia well…I think it fell in line with the kind of thing I wanted to do in life. But she said…” he shrugged with a laugh, “I’m a bit of a dud. Not a drop of anything supernatural in me. I wouldn’t be able to do the things one would have to do in that training. So I went on to get my badge instead. I did things my way, covered the end of regular folks. Sort of…turned a blind eye to things, maybe helped her keep other people from figuring things out, and pretended I didn’t know any better. She covered the rest.”

“…and me…?” Stiles looked at him.

“Oh you…” his father’s smile was strained and brief, shaking his head. “Claudia knew you had a chance to,” his father looked at him intently. “She told me…” he sighed, “…she told me you had something in you, Stiles. She knew it the moment you were born. Said you grabbed onto her finger and she felt it pulsing in you like anything. A  _ spark _ , she said. That was the word she used. You had it. It was locked up inside you but, you’d grow with it.”

In his mind, Stiles remembered Deaton’s words to him.  _ Spark _ . That was also the word Deaton used. He told him Stiles needed to be the spark that ignites the gunpowder. That if he believed in it, he was the catalyst. The mountain ash worked for him then, and at the time he thought that was simply how mountain ash worked. He had simply been the trigger.

He hadn’t realized that there actually might be something to him that made the ash behave that way. That in believing he could, he had opened a switch somewhere inside him as well that made the ash do its work. And given everything else he’d seen and done…after hearing this from his father…

“And she…she wanted me to do this?” Stiles asked. “To go train and become like her?”

“I think she wanted you to choose for yourself,” his father replied firmly. “Maybe she was hoping you  _ would _ , that she could pass that hood to you, if you decided to go, but not until you were old enough to understand what it meant, and can decide if you really wanted to or not.”

He put a heavy hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and suddenly Stiles felt the weight of why his father had kept this from him for so long. Of how much he was worried about him, about everything. 

“Either way wouldn’t have meant a difference to me, Stiles,” his father told him, voice grave. “If you decided not to go or go, I would’ve been glad for it. But when you made your decision last night, you were pretty fast about it. Maybe driven by everything you’ve heard and what you’ve told me. I want you to just be sure.”

His father leaned back. “This is going to be a year, Stiles. An entire year of your life compressed to a single summer. I don’t know the mechanics of it, but that’s how long it will be to you. A whole year. Away from home or familiar ground, where no help from us out here can reach you and where you can’t really reach back. To the rest of us, you’d be gone for some months. But you’ll have to fight that grueling training year on your own. And I…I just don’t know what you’ll have to go through once you get there, I just know what Claudia told me: that it will be hard it’ll be painful. You’ll face difficult decisions. You’ll be put through the training of your life. And you’ll return changed, older, and wiser. And that’s just to prepare you for what’s to come. If you take on this responsibility, you won’t ever be able to extricate yourself from that world. You’ll be a part of it. Permanently, whether you like it or not.”

He put his hands on his son’s shoulders. “I want you to know that if you decide not to do this, no one will think any less of you. There’s still time to take it back. You see how few there are left of them? There’s a reason. So far…from what I understand of what you’ve told me…you’re doing alright. Helping out Scott and Hale and the rest of them. I mean…I’m not  _ happy  _ about it—”

“Dad,” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“I know, I know. All I’m saying is…  _ Maybe _ you can keep doing that without having to go through this, take on this responsibility. I’ll even help you, however I can. Use whatever information your mother may have left behind. There’s no pressure for you to do anything you don’t want to. Whatever you decide, at least you know now.”

Stiles, who had been listening to all of this while trying to keep as collected as possible, clutched the hood in his hands. He knows what it means, what it meant to his mother, and what it’s going to mean for him. There’s no turning back once he decides.

But as he’d realized long ago, the moment he threw his hat in with Scott becoming a werewolf, the minute he started holding Derek up in the water of the pool for hours while paralyzed, the  _ second _ he drew Isaac and Erica away from harm’s way, all of that. He had decided a long time ago.

“That’s exactly it, dad,” he whispered to his father. “I know now. I know what it means, what it’s going to do to me. …that’s why I have to go. Not just because mom would’ve wanted it. But…with everything that’s going on here,  _ now _ …? I can’t not go. I can’t. I can’t stand by and not be able to do anything while they’re running around with fangs and claws and super healing and all that. I can’t pretend I can keep up when I  _ can’t _ . I can’t stand by knowing everything, knowing I could be better, be able to do something, and not do it. And this…is a chance for me to do something. Change things. If I join their ranks, I can come back and do things right, like mom did. There aren’t a lot of them left. I may as well add one more, right?”

The Sheriff stared for a long hard moment at his only child. His son. All he had left after the passing of his wife. And that boy, rapidly growing, and stronger by the day, stared back intently. 

And the older man let out his breath. “If…that’s what you want, Stiles.”

“I want this,” Stiles nodded, clenching his fists. “I want to do this. I  _ need _ to do this.”

His father brought him close for a tight embrace, which Stiles returned, burying his face in his father’s shoulder. “I have to, dad,” he whispered. “For you, for mom, for my pack…and for me.”

“I know, son.” His father nodded, patting his back heavily. “I know.” Eventually he drew back, and heavily patted at his son’s neck. “We’ll talk more over breakfast, come on.”

“Yeah, important life decisions burn lots of calories,” Stiles managed a smile, and then he took a sniff in the air. His face morphed into outrage. “Is that… _ did you cook bacon _ ?!”

“It’s an important day,” his father protested.

“Dad!”

“I will answer all your questions about your mom’s life here in Beacon Hills after she trained if you let me have a couple of pieces.” His father vanished into the dining room.

Stiles glowered at him, but stood cogitating only a moment longer, following after his father. “Fine. But I want answers about mom and the Hales.”  
  



	3. Quite Contrary

#  **Quite Contrary**

 

PRESENT DAY

 

“Danny? Danny! Hey! Hey, Danny!” Stiles hurriedly jogged after the other boy between classes, grabbing his muscled arm and so pulling away the book from his face.

“I got five minutes to next class, Stiles,” Danny groaned, slowing his walk and pulling his hand away from the excitable boy. “Come on, what is it?”

“I’ll make it quick, like light speed,” Stiles promised, flailing around him like a gnat. “Listen, so I heard you’ve been doing research for the pack—”

“Jackson wanted me to,” Danny replied with a sigh. “I guess Derek was really getting testy from not being able to make any progress and Jackson was desperate to impress. You know, I  _ knew _ that guy wasn’t your cousin.  _ Miguel _ ? Really, Stiles? I knew Beacon Hills was weird as hell, but if I’d known what you had gotten me into—”

“Hey hey, by your admission,  _ Jackson _ got you into this, so please address any and all blame to him,” Stiles retorted. 

“You’re indirectly at fault by not being the one to do this yourself,” Danny remarked calmly. “I’ve had a werewolf Alpha backseat-researching over my shoulder informing me that  _ you  _ ‘would’ve found things by now’ or that  _ you _ ‘would’ve done it differently’. He seems more used to you than me.”

“Unbelievable,” Stiles raised his eyebrows. “I mean seriously. It’s not believable. I don’t believe it. Was Derek under the grip of some hallucinogen? Drugged by some kanima venom? Or—” Danny had started walking away and Stiles jumped forward again. “Okay, okay, look—I just wanted to know if you had found anything or have gotten any leads about Erica and Boyd.”

“Not much, that I can tell you,” Danny sighed. “Just what the police have. That they were spotted heading a ways off towards the woods the last time they were seen. But they’ve sent scent dogs and teams to look in that direction, they didn’t pick up anything. Either that or the regular dogs just didn’t want to get mixed up with werewolves.”

“Wait, you mean Erica and Boyd’s scent were what’s throwing the dogs off?” Stiles asked, confused. “But real dogs don’t get affected that way by werewolves.”

“You’re right, they don’t,” Danny nodded. “They only become—”

“Submissive, yeah,” Stiles nodded, wide-eyed.

“Well, these ones were scared. They didn’t want to go any further. That’s why Derek doesn’t think it’s just Erica and Boyd involved here. Something out there scared the dogs…or made them feel as though they shouldn’t be following.”

“It could be a territorial thing…” Stiles muttered, lost in thought as he walked. “If the dogs didn’t want to go any further into the woods, they may have thought they weren’t supposed to. They may have known they were in the territory of someone powerful. But they’d never had that problem before when it was just Derek in the woods and he’s still the Alpha. If they didn’t have that problem then but they have that problem now…there’s probably something else out there, or there’s someone making them think…”

Stiles plodded on down the hallway, muttering to himself and completely absorbed in stringing together possibilities that he didn’t notice Danny had stopped walking, and was just standing and watching as Stiles walked off by himself. He stood a little puzzled until Jackson came up next to him and elbowed him lightly. “What was that about with Stilinski?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Danny replied, still a little confounded. “He was asking me about Boyd and Erica, and I did, and then he started going off on his own tangent, putting things together, before I could even finish. I guess Derek was right: he  _ does _ seem to have a better grasp of this.”

“Derek also said that you weren’t supposed to tell him anything,” Jackson huffed. “To keep him away from it for a while.”

“Since I’m not  _ technically _ a part of the pack, I think I’m not that obligated to listen to Derek’s orders, Jackson…”

As Danny and Jackson walked away to class, Stiles pretended he didn’t hear what Jackson had said. He waited until they were gone, until the students had mostly petered out of the hall, before he leaned against a bank of lockers and let out his breath. 

So Derek didn’t want him told about anything. Wanted him kept away. He wasn’t going to lie: that hurt. The surprising thing was that although he generally expected it—it’s not a secret that Derek acted like he was a hindrance even on the best of days—and he had known it wasn’t going to be easy coming back to this, it still hurt a lot more than he thought it was going to.

And that was the thing that made him angry. Not that Derek didn’t want him told or involved. That it  _ bothered him so much that Derek thought of him that way _ . 

He’d thought he and Derek made at least some progress, in the spirit of cooperation for a mutual goal. He’d thought that if he threw himself into being a useful member of this pack, one that Scott was maybe probably, up to one  _ hundred _ percent likely, going to get dragged into all over again—there could be some more development on that end. Peter (who really really needs to perish) notwithstanding.

(Honestly, the rest of the pack he could deal with. Even Jackson. Even the Alpha himself. Maybe. But  Peter needs one-way flight to Hades and Stiles is going to work on figuring that one out after he’d sorted the Case of the Missing Betas.)

So maybe it was just going to be harder than he thought. He knew it was going to be. He just didn’t expect that Derek was going to actively make him want to strangle him in the process. He didn’t expect that Derek would actually be going out of his way to tell his betas to  _ keep him out of things _ when it was clear that he wasn’t able to even handle the thing himself. It was at a time like this, and it wasn’t the first time, that he wished he had his mother. His mother who could tell him how to deal with thickheaded Hales.

“Stiles?”

He had known she was there and watching for a while now, and had relegated her presence to the back of his concerns. But for the benefit of the onlookers, he flailed and slammed the back of his hands onto a locker and howled. “Ow! Shit…” he cradled his hand, curling over it. “Sorry. Hi.”

“Sorry,” Allison replied, eyes large. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Something about her tone made Stiles glance at her. Whatever her mouth said, her eyes and her face didn’t seem to match it. Stiles knew when he was being analyzed, and he could see it in Allison’s dark eyes. She was searching him.

“Uh...no, I’m fine, just…” Stiles waved it away carelessly, hoping to bat away the scrutiny in her gaze along with it. “Hey...Allison. It’s been awhile. France, I heard from Scott?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, holding her books carefully, like someone holding props. She remained perfectly still, not the least bit casual. “For the summer, with my dad.”

“Good…” Stiles nodded, knowing something was definitely up from the way she was  _ intent _ at him like that. He lowered his hands to his sides. “I mean given how  _ wonderfully  _ things went last time, getting a little retraining in Hunter 101 would be good. Less attempted murder would be great.” 

He couldn’t help it. The sting bled into his voice. He couldn’t help but remember how Allison had gone all out at the Betas, and how Scott was put in the line of fire, and how Derek had been put over the metaphoric coals. Yes, Gerard was to blame for all of it; he knew it too well. Gerard had played his granddaughter, poisoned her mind and manipulated her like a puppet on strings, and he knows a hundred percent that she wasn’t supposed to be blamed for being victimized by him, just like the rest of them. 

...but he was still human, and he had been through all that. He couldn’t  _ help  _ but resent even the smallest bit, even as he fought to overcome it.

A door slammed shut. The hallway was empty. Stiles stared at the girl that his best friend was madly, completely in love with. The powerful Argent huntress who had plowed through the Betas of Derek’s small pack. The girl who had a murderous aunt, a mother who chose death, and was played a fool by her own psychotic grandfather. The unbowed girl of immense control that was now staring him down as though she was gauging his movements as he was doing hers, aware that something about Stiles was different.

Then Allison took a deep breath, breaking gaze for a moment as her eyes flicked to the floor. “There’s not enough time right now but I...was hoping we could talk? Later maybe?”

Stiles gingerly scratched his head. “Look...if this is about you and Scott, it’s really not anything to do with me, you know—”

“This isn’t about Scott,” Allison immediately replied. She lifted her chin a little, determined. “...this is about me and my family. The Argents. And...what happened with my grandfather.”

Stiles closed his fist, surprised by how easy it was to bring back the memory of what Gerard had done to him. He eyed Allison, eyes narrowing somewhat. “...what about it?”

It was like a dance. She wasn’t sure about him, and he wasn’t sure about her, but she was sure  _ enough  _ to be having this conversation in the first place, and Stiles wasn’t going to volunteer anything until  _ he  _ was sure. She cautiously replied, “I...would like to know where we stand on that.”

“If you’re looking for some kind of treaty, I don’t think I’m the person you’re supposed to be talking to about that…” Stiles replied with an equal amount of care. “I’m not a representative of Derek’s pack. Neither is Scott, by the way.”

“This isn’t... _ technically _ about Derek’s pack,” Allison responded, staring at Stiles, as though she were willing him to understand. She’s thrown the ball to Stiles’ court now. “This is about everything else. Where we, the Argents, stand after the problems that had happened.”

“And...you’re coming to me because…” it wasn’t a question. Stiles wasn’t asking her, he was  _ begging _ her to play along. 

_ Don’t, Allison _ , he told her as hard as he could without saying the words.  _ Go to another one, don’t ask me. If you know, then you know I can’t be the one that... _

But she stared at him with those big brown eyes, imploring. She wasn’t going to let up, because she and her family need this. And there wasn’t really anyone else within close range that she could come to, and Stiles knew that. In Beacon Hills, it was only going to be him for this entire territory.

“Stiles,” she said, a little more firmly, a little more steadily—like all the powerful leaders of the Argents did. “Stiles… we  _ need _ an Ar—”

“Alright,” Stiles immediately cut in, exhaling. All pretenses were gone for the moment. “Alright. Okay. You don’t have to push.”

“Don’t I?” she asked, eyeing him. “I’m not going to tell anyone if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t want you to,” he responded immediately. “Let’s just...keep it down until I can figure out exactly how to explain to people…” he sighed. “...and explain to Scott…”

“You haven’t told  _ Scott _ ?” Allison stared at him.

“Excuse me, what’s the judg-y-ness I hear in your tone?” Stiles demanded with a slightly crazed expression. “There is no judging here, judging is not allowed from anyone, no one gets to judge my terrible life decisions.  _ I _ get to judge my horrible life choices, it’s an exclusive thing!”

His phone went off again, making the both of them start a little. Stiles hastily pulled it out and checked the notification. He snarled a little under his breath at the little red dot before the name again.

“Not now…” he hissed as he pocketed the phone. At the guarded look on Allison’s face, he added, “It’s just not the right time. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Okay, good…” she nodded, a little more relieved. Her grip on the books had relaxed. “I’ll see you later.” She turned and headed off to class, leaving Stiles to collapse against a locker, trying to keep himself together.

_ Werewolves, and now hunters _ . His mind helpfully provided images of Gerard’s beating once again and he put it away, trying to shake it out of his system. He was stronger than this. He had to be stronger than this. There was so much resting on his shoulders now.

He glanced at the clock on his phone. He had a couple periods before lunch, when the charade begins again. Being the son of a law enforcement officer, he knew that the longer it took to find someone missing, the greater the likelihood that they would not be found alive. With werewolves in the picture, the sooner the better remains the motto. He already had what he needed for Erica, and now it was Boyd’s turn.

Time to do some work for a living.

  
  


The Jeep screeched to a halt in front of the veterinary clinic, and Stiles stepped out of it without a moment of hesitation. There’s no need for pleasantries nor any pretense from this point on. He won’t have to pretend around Deaton—because Stiles sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to pretend that he hadn’t learned enough of what the ol’ vet had been keeping from them.

Without hesitation, he set foot into the outside perimeter of the clinic, eyes blazing. 

_ “Rad na ail,”  _ he hissed under his breath.

There was a ripple of shock in reality. Small enough to seem like a moment of heat mirage, but the energy was so potent that it gusted a low cloud of dust outward in a ring around the clinic—that invisible perimeter of Deaton’s defense that went beyond mountain ash lines.

Piercing that barrier alerted Deaton from inside the building immediately, and the veterinarian was stepping into in the front area the instant Stiles was coming through the door. 

“Dr. Deaton,” Stiles said by way of greeting with some mock gravity, with no hilarity. “Sorry to drop by so suddenly.”

The slightly alarmed look on Deaton’s face was there just for an instant; when he saw Stiles, standing there in his scarlet hoodie, his face cleared.

“Ah,” he said grimly, clearly only slightly affronted by the unannounced visit, but also not particularly surprised. “Good morning. I was wondering if you were going to pay a visit once you’ve returned to Beacon Hills.” He sighed and moved past Stiles to the door, flipping the sign outside his door to “Closed” before looking back to the teen in his office. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, for starters, you don’t have to be so formal,” Stiles muttered, doing a cursory check of the area. He peeked through the blinds with a paranoia that was his own long before training, and he shuttered them. He scratched his fingernail at the wall next to the window, crudely marking it.

_ “Vor hatal,” _ he muttered. The mark gleamed for only a moment and then Deaton swatted his hand away from scratching anything else on the walls.

“We know each other well enough, right?” Stiles made a painful smile at him. “Us being such a great team and all; looking after wayward werewolves like Scott, teaching me mountain ash tricks before my time, being first-aid to  _ Talia Hale’s son _ on a semi-regular basis?”

That last one made Deaton sigh deeply, as it hinted very strongly to possible jeopardy. “I get it. The place is sealed. What do you want, Stiles?”

“I want the wolfsbane bullets you dug out of Boyd after the Hunters shot him,” Stiles replied immediately. “I know you’ve got them, this was the only place Boyd could have gone to after he was shot. This is the only place Derek  _ could _ have sent the Betas to if they needed patching up.”

“That’s all?” Deaton raised his eyebrow as he headed into the back of the clinic, with Stiles following. The air in the brick room was still warm, even though they were headed into fall. “Just the bullets from Boyd? I would’ve thought that you’d wanted something a little more serious given how you so forcibly broke through my barrier.”

“I may have been trying to show off a little,” Stiles admitted,  ducking his head. “Like...show of force, you know? Like, ‘Look what I can do now!’ Or something…”

“It wasn’t necessary,” Deaton grunted in reply as he browsed around jars and bottles on a shelf tucked behind cans of cat and dog food. “It’s meant to tell me who or what is coming in and out of the perimeter before they even hit the line at the door, and keep out those that aren’t stopped by mountain ash.”

“Oh come on, like none of the wolves have ever tried to show off a little once they got all shiny and claw-y and fang-y,” Stiles downright pouted.

“Don’t pout,” Deaton told him before he even turned around with a small specimen jar that held the silver bullets. “It’s unbecoming of someone in your standing.”

“Oh well  _ thank you _ , Deaton, I really needed someone to give me even more pressure like I’m not hyper-aware of that already,” Stiles replied sarcastically. 

“Oh? I’m not the only one here who thinks they should start getting formal with you?” Deaton leaned over the table with great interest and what was, in Stiles’ opinion, entirely insufficient sympathy towards the situation.

Stiles threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Allison definitely came close. She wants to talk to me about where “the Argents stand” or something like that. Like I’m  _ qualified _ to be handling that sort of thing—has she  _ met _ me? You know what, she  _ has  _ met me, so she should literally know better! Like, I am  _ fresh out of the gate, _ Deaton. I’m not mature enough for this!”

Deaton now looked a somber as he stared at Stiles. “Allison wants you to be an Arbiter for the situation with the Argents in Beacon Hills?”

The title made Stiles flinch as though he’d been physically slapped. He had been desperately hoping that no one would say the actual word until maybe a week into his return home, but business was business. Deaton stared hard at him, and Stiles sighed deeply. “...no, she hasn’t actually said anything. She just said that she wanted to talk to me about it. I think she wants my opinion is all. I doubt I’ll be the official Hood for the thing.”

“As of now, you’re the only Hood in Beacon Hills,” Deaton pointed out, using the more unofficial term as Stiles did. Small mercies.

“Yeah,  _ I know that _ ,” Stiles retorted, arms crossed petulantly. “I knew that before I even came home, thanks.”

“And you’re the first one to have been here since your mother passed away,” Deaton added with a little more care in his tone.

Stiles stared at the floor. “...I know that too.” He wandered away from the doctor, shaking his head. “S’why I wanted to do it, too. Because there hadn’t been a Hood in a while, and everything...kind of went all to shit after mom died. They basically just left Beacon Hills to be what it is, they didn’t want to send in and lose anyone else. And look where that got us.” He laughed a little bitterly. “Look where that got the Hales.”

Deaton sighed. “Well, that’s one semi-legitimate reason you can’t be the Arbiter even if Allison asks you.”

“What?” Stiles looked up.

“You’re inclined towards the Hale pack. That doesn’t make you good for the situation since they’re involved.”

Stiles could feel his eye twitching as he stared at him. “ _Excuse_ _me_?”

Deaton only looked amused again as he walked off. Stiles followed, aghast, feeling heat rising into his face. “I’m not biased to  _ any _ pack! I technically don’t even  _ have _ a pack! I’m with Scott, far’s anyone is concerned!”

“You are...but that doesn’t mean you’re not inclined to the pack, I’ve seen enough of it in action when you’re with Derek or his betas.” Deaton plunked the specimen jar onto the front desk. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles retorted with an indignant huff. “I’m their  _ chew toy _ at best, and their bait at worst.”

He reached for the jar, but the doctor grabbed it before he could. Deaton had that maddeningly knowing look on his face again. “What do you need these bullets for?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, reaching for the jar again. “I’m trying to find two missing Betas. You may recall them, one is blonde, drop dead gorgeous and inhumanly strong, the other one is a big tough teddy bear that everyone relies on. Their faces have been on ‘missing’ posters. Or has Derek not been ranting to you about Erica and Boyd being gone?”

“I believe he only rants in his head, he’s got a lot of internal things to work out.” Derek dropped the jar into Stiles’ hands. “But the point stands.”

“Which is?” Stiles raised an eyebrow.

Deaton smirked. “You watch over the Hale pack. In spite of your protests.”

“It’s called being a decent human being, Deaton,” Stiles retorted as he strode towards the door. “They’re out there lost somewhere, I can’t stand here and not look for them or do something if I have the ability to.”

“If you say so, Stiles.”

His phone went off for the third time that day. Frustrated, Stiles yanked it out of his pocket again. There was that red dot in front of the name again, and a view of the notifications in succession implied an increasing amount of urgency.

Deaton, evidently seeing the frown on Stiles’ face, asked, “Duty calls?”

“Not  _ now _ ,” Stiles growled, pushing the phone back into his hoodie pockets. “I just got here, can’t they leave me alone for a day?! We’re supposed to be managing on our own, getting acclimated back to our home territories, I can’t be micromanaging at a time like this...” 

Now Deaton seemed to look him over more intently, intrigued. “I heard a Hood was finally coming to Beacon Hills...but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

Stiles huffed from the doorway. “Druids. Whatever happened to just cryptically dispensing pieces of advice that’ll make sense in the future instead of being the town gossip?”

“I think given your studies, you know exactly what happened to druids,” Deaton looked terribly amused. “And for the record, druids have always been gossips.”

Grumbling, Stiles strode out of the clinic. At least he’d gotten what he came for.

  
  


Something was wrong, and this time Derek was certain of it. He became absolutely certain when he arrived at Deaton’s to see Stiles’ jeep parked outside. In the middle of the school day. 

He had immediately moved to approach when he realized what it was that unsettled him so deeply: he could hear nothing inside the house. Not a single sound, not a single movement. Not even Stiles’ and Deaton’s heartbeats. But there was movement inside, he could see it. Smell it. Two of them were in there, moving and apparently having a conversation.

But he couldn’t hear them. Not what they’re saying, not their heartbeats. It was remarkably unsettling, knowing Stiles was in the building but not hearing the usual beat of his heart. But then, Stiles’ heartbeat hasn’t been the same since Derek heard him come back from Beacon Hills.

Staying in the treeline, Derek remembered that Stiles had returned home in his jeep, with a perfectly even, steady heartbeat. So even that he almost didn’t think it was Stiles. It seemed so controlled. And then Stiles disappeared into his house, and that same complete shutdown of noise happened. Derek had never seen anything like it.

And now here it was, again. Auditory blackout. And with the mountain ash line solid on Deaton’s doorways, Derek couldn’t just enter, and it would seem the vet had no idea he was lurking outside.

Without warning, sound rushed back as though it came in from vacuum. The door flew open and Stiles came out of the office looking a little flushed, grumbling mutinously under his breath, and Derek could hear him again. His heart, his breath, and the rustle of his clothes, the jingle of keys as he drew them out of his pocket before pulling open the driver’s side of the Jeep.

Derek backed away from the Jeep and headed for his own Camaro, waiting until Stiles had driven a good distance away before heading on to follow. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he didn’t like it.

The Jeep’s windows were open, and the scent of Stiles blew in the wind into the Camaro—Derek could pick it out even from this distance. This was another thing that unsettled him about Stiles, he decided.

He knew Stiles’ scent. He knew it too well. In spite of chlorine and water, he had it seared into memory by bobbing two hours in a pool with Stiles. He knew it from having been pressed too close to him too many times. Stiles smelled like the woods in Beacon Hills; like turned earth, wet shoots from the ground, the smell of the breeze just before it rained.

But this Stiles… Derek frowned as he watched the Jeep pull into Beacon Hills High School again. The Stiles that had returned, the one now stepping out of the Jeep and looking furtively around before heading back into the campus… 

This Stiles still had the traces of the one before. But he had changed. Apart from the heartbeat that he was now tracking, following as he headed into the school, his scent had changed. It had... _ ripened _ , for lack of a better word. He was the storm in the forest. Ancient wood and leaves drenched in the downpour, the green tang of rich petrichor, the sting of ozone after the lightning strike. His very presence made the rustled the calm of Derek’s wolf. 

It was this scent that he followed into the school hallways, tracking his target’s steady, beating heart.

One step into an adjoining hall and he immediately found himself pushed into the locker room door with alarming force, his back crashing into metal and a pair of hands fisted into his shirt. All the wind knocked out of him, he snarled more in shock than rage as his wolf flew to the surface, his red eyes smoldering.

“ _ Oh my god _ , Derek!” came the hiss of alarm over him. Stiles was staring at him, heart hammering in its cage and beating in Derek’s ears. His eyes were wide with shock. “What the  _ fuck _ ?!”

“I ought to be the one asking you that,” Derek shot back when he got his breath again, still pinned to the door with nothing more than the surprising strength of Stiles’ deceptively supple wrists. 

Stiles seemed to realize this at the same time and he jerked his hands from Derek like they were burning. Breathing heavily, he stared at the wolf. “What the hell are you doing here lurking?”

Derek glared malevolently at him and could not find an answer.  _ I was following you _ , he could have said, but it would be over his own grave. 

“Hello?!” Stiles demanded, flailing an arm. “Is this your pastime now? Being creepy in school hallways? Are you looking for replacement Betas? Because even if there’s a rich stock of insecure hormonal teenagers in this school, I don’t think anyone in the pack’s ready to let go of Erica and Boyd just yet!”

“You’re out of your mind,” Derek finally shot back.

“This from you, creeper,” Stiles retorted, rubbing his chest as though to calm himself. “God, you gave me a heart attack.”

“ _ You? _ ” Derek very much doubted that. And that was what worried him. The entire time he was tracking him, Stiles’ heart remained  _ steady _ . Controlled. And it was only when action burst out, when he exerted, did it go off. That wasn’t a natural thing, not to Stiles. “How did you even do that?”

“Do what?” Stiles asked, confused.

“ _ Sneak up  _ and get the jump on me!” the Alpha snarled, lunging forward.

Stiles flinched.  _ Belatedly _ . Derek didn’t miss that and took note. “What are you talking about? I knew  _ something  _ had been following me since I left Deaton’s, it wasn’t  _ that hard _ . You have the worst creeping skills in the planet, Derek; this is how  _ werewolves get shot by Hunters _ , man! God!” He threw up his hands and paced, hands jittering.

He wasn’t lying. His heartbeat was steady—quick from the exertion earlier. Derek was seething. None of this made sense. “So you attacked me?!”

“Wha—I did not  _ attack _ you,” Stiles scoffed, a little indignant, wringing his hands. “You’re all muscle and claws, I  _ shoved _ you, unknown supernatural creeper, out of the very exposed hallway! After I heard from Scott that there’s something funky going on in it involved Erica and Boyd going missing, I didn’t want anyone to be the next casualty.”

_Yes, but_ ** _how the hell did you do it_**? Derek swallowed, still slightly breathless. He felt that impact, Stiles’ hands on him. He hadn’t realized Stiles was even that strong. Of course, it may have only been because he had been taken off guard, unbelievable as that was. And he _still_ couldn’t hear Stiles lying.

“What were you doing at Deaton’s?” Derek demanded.

“What was I—?!” Stiles gave him a slightly crazed expression. “What do you think, genius? The same thing apparently all of you have been doing while I was gone. I’m trying to find Erica and Boyd! I went to Deaton—”

Alarms were already sounding all over Derek’s head and he surged up to nearly be chest to chest with Stiles, an uncomfortable cold biting into his hands. “ _ No,  _ Stiles. You stay out of this, you understand? No.”

“‘ _ No, Stiles _ ’?” Stiles gave him that disbelieving, defiant expression that made Derek always want to slam him up against something. He surged right back up into Derek’s space, not a single trace of fear in him. His eyes blazed amber in the sun and god, Derek caught his breath for too many reasons. “‘ _ No _ ’? Are you giving me orders? Because that definitely sounded like orders to me. Is that what we’re doing now? Oh good, let me try!” He jabbed a finger to Derek’s chest. “Sit! Stay! Fun, right, Derek?”

Derek’s wolf was now positively livid and he knows he’s snarling loud enough to be audible under his voice, but he couldn’t help it. “Damn it, Stiles, I’m serious!  _ This _ is serious! There is something out there and whatever it is, whatever  _ they _ are, they’ve got Erica and Boyd and this is absolutely not something you’re going to be of any help in!”

“I’m serious too, Derek!” Stiles snapped. “You think I’m going to stand by if something is running around out there snatching people up? When did me or Scott ever not get into the thick of it anyway?”

“This is different,” Derek growled, pacing away from him. “There’s something out there that you’re powerless against, Stiles. This isn’t something you  _ or  _ Scott can handle—and this involves  _ my pack _ and I’m going to deal with it.”

“So is this you officially rescinding any and all offers to have Scott on board your merry men?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You dropped him, from what I hear. Or are you just weeding out everyone who refuses to submit to you as an Alpha?”

Derek resisted the urge to beat a locker door. Stiles literally  _ does not  _ understand what is going on here and he refuses to be deterred while at the same time driving him up the wall. The boy’s ability to get on Derek’s every last nerve was  _ unheard of _ . Why couldn’t he understand that at best, Derek was trying to protect his pack? “If Scott isn’t going to do this properly, I don’t need him getting caught into it. The situation’s too complicated and I can’t have him going in there half-assed.”

“And you think I’ll be the same?” Stiles demanded. “Give me  _ some _ credit, Derek, I’ve pulled my weight for this pack enough for that at least! If you know so much, why don’t you just tell me what is going on?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Derek finally huffed and shouldered past Stiles, who didn’t get bowled over for the first time—in fact, Stiles grabbed onto his shoulder.

“Derek, come on,” Stiles stepped into his path, blocking him. “You even let Danny help do some research. I believe you when you say this is serious. You wouldn’t have caved otherwise. And you  _ need _ the help so why won’t you just let me help?”

Derek stared down at Stiles, taking in the open expression in his face. He hadn’t seen him in nearly four months, and yet so much of him had changed. He was broader, taller, and his hair had grown out. He sharpened a little, and the way those brown eyes looked up at him in earnest suggested that he really did intend on throwing himself into this determined to resolve it. In spite of himself, his eyes flicked to the warm mouth. Stiles was so close that his breath ghosted over Derek’s face, the heat of his hand on his shoulder pulsing with life.

He smelled like lightning and having him so close felt like being struck; too intense to turn at directly and he looked away.

“I don’t care if you don’t think I’m pack,” Stiles muttered fervently at him, trying to meet his eyes. “I don’t even know if I want to be. But just let me help you at least find Erica and Boyd. Because  _ they  _ are pack and it’s not just you who wants them back here.”

When Derek had been standing in the woods, at the spot where he had tracked his two Betas to, he knew he was at the right spot because he smelled their blood. When they were here, both were heavily injured. And they weren’t alone.

They had been ringed by the scent of wolves; powerful ones, and not ones that Derek had ever come across in his time back in Beacon Hills, although one of them was familiar in vague ways. The strength of them took down his Betas, and where they had been knocked down, they certainly did not get back up. And then their trail headed back into the woods, deep, scattering—to directions that Derek couldn’t be sure of.

He remembered the moment that scene’s scent and that realization registered in Isaac, who went stiff beside him, emitting the familiar sharp smell of fear, his heartbeat picking up. He remembered how Jackson shifted uneasily, edging a little closer to him, waiting for his instruction. Any instruction. What were they supposed to do with this? He had tried to continue tracking them, but then the trails scattered into the wind, and it would appear that this group had been running around the woods a lot longer than he thought—as there were traces of them everywhere that confused his betas, and probably what was scaring all the animals in the woods. And it had deterred him from moving forward. 

Was it because he wasn’t strong enough as an Alpha to do it? He had the general direction down, but he knew what he was coming up against. Some extremely powerful wolves—wolves of immense strength of a level that Derek hadn’t encountered since his mother.

The copper smell of Erica and Boyd was still in him. And now, standing in front of Stiles, imagining him and Scott, and what was left of his Betas, facing off against whatever waited for them, he smelled the metallic salt of blood again. It pulsed red—like the flush on Stiles’ face.

“This isn’t your fight,” Derek finally told him, eyes intent. “I don’t want you getting involved in this and making everything worse. There’s nothing you can do, don’t you get it?!  _ I don’t want your help _ . Stay away from this, Stiles. Just let it go.” 

He ignored the look on Stiles’ face, frozen and wide-eyed like he had been slapped, as he shouldered past him again, heading for the door of the locker room.

“Derek.”

He stopped at the door, and turned back slightly.

Stiles stood staring at him, still and silent under a ray of light and floating dust. His expression was simply pleading at him, with no hostility, or even anger. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest. “Derek,” Stiles whispered in the quiet, “...please. Let me help you.”

And god, did he want to give in. He wanted to grasp it like a lifeline. Like he was drowning, and Stiles was the only one keeping him afloat. 

But who was this Stiles that came back from the summer, smelled like the earth in a storm, who no longer flinched at him? Who was followed by an eerie silence when there used to be days when he could pick out his heartbeat from a mile away? Could he really trust him right now? And could he trust his own strength to make sure Stiles emerges out of this alive one more time?

Derek couldn’t find his words to answer. Stiles stared at him as though begging him to say yes. But since when did Stiles ever need his approval anyway?

Without answering, Derek stepped out of the locker room and left, trying to draw himself away from that pull to Stiles—throwing himself into the churning waters, and away from the lighthouse in the fog.

  
  


Stiles dropped to the floor of the locker room, leaning back on the metal locker, stifling a sob of anger and frustration. He kicked the ground and slammed his fist into the locker door.

_ Dammit, Derek _ , he hunched over and bit into his fist, trying to breathe.  _ Why do you have to make everything so difficult?! _

It would have been so much easier if Derek had just let him. If Derek had just said yes and allowed him to help. He was going to either way, that was flat. But then he wouldn’t have had to do it against him. He wouldn’t have had to hide, or lie. 

At least not any more than he already had. And it hadn’t been easy. If he hadn’t had the practice, lying to beings who could tell when you were lying, he would’ve been lost from the beginning of the conversation.

He wouldn’t have to do this in secret, or could at least have gotten a start into easing the pack and Derek to what he was now. Someone different—someone they could rely on in a moment like this. He wouldn’t have had to keep lying to Derek, but now he had to. Which ultimately makes things so much worse when the truth finally comes out.

He didn’t know how to get Derek to trust him. And if he does what he was planning to do, and gets busted for doing it, the fallout wasn’t going to be pretty. 

Stiles leaned his head back onto the metal, closing his eyes. _But I have to._ _I have to, if I want to find them. Wherever they are, I can track them, I know I can. I have to do this, for their sake and mine. Because God, Derek’s pride, or his emotional constipation will be the end of us all._

After a few moments, he breathed out a sigh. “Isaac...are you not allowed to fraternize with pack pariahs or are you just practicing your Lurking 101? Tell Derek he’s not the best lurking role model.”

There was no response. 

Stiles sighed and leaned back again, closing his eyes. “Suit yourself. I’m gonna…” he limply waved a hand, “...stay here. Study my poor life choices and all that, for the rest of the day. Be a dear and tell Scott, will you?” 

There was a pause, and Stiles’ stomach rumbled, breaking the moment. “...okay, maybe just until lunch period. ...man I hope there’s chicken strips today.”

Silence filled the room as Stiles stared at the sunbeams pouring in from the window slats, watching the dust float. 

Finally, there was a rustle. “...not that it’ll matter but...we really  _ could  _ use all the help we can get. So...” and awkward shuffle, “...do what you gotta do. If you want to.”

The other door of the locker room closed shut, and Isaac was gone.

In spite of himself, a small smile crept up to Stiles’ face. 

_ Baby steps _ , he thought. It was only his first day back, after all.


	4. And He Cried Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful for the kudos and the comments. I honestly, cross my heart didn't expect anyone to even read this...thing. Thank you so much, and I'm just really so happy you guys even took the time out to read this. It means a lot, given how there are so much good fic out there.
> 
> Once again, this is a canon divergence. So for this chapter, there's going to be some familiar faces, in unfamiliar settings. Thank you and I hope you enjoy reading.

#  **And He Cried Wolf**

 

FLASHBACK: _First Day of Camp_

 

His father had wanted to drive him up to Mount Shasta and see him off when the first day finally arrived. It was Stiles who said no. Beacon Hills needed his father more than he did, and he could drive up there on his own. Perhaps he also did it because he didn’t want to cause his father any more pain. The memory of losing his mother certainly counted as that. And to bring him to a place where she had spent so much time away from him could only serve to remind him that she was somewhere that she really wasn’t coming back from after a few months.

“Remember,” his father had told him, “if anything bad happens, if it turns out all wrong or...even if you just change your mind. You come straight back home, alright? I’ll be waiting.”

His father didn’t want to lose him either. Stiles smiled faintly. “Don’t worry, dad. Think of it as practice for when I’m finally out of your hair and gone to college. Besides…” he lightly punched his shoulder, “it’ll only be a few months.”

A few months of time to those outside. An entire year away from friends and family to Stiles.

He had spent the remainder of the week between packing and spending as much time as he could with Scott. He wasn’t going to see him for a while, after all. Scott took the news of him going to “summer camp” pretty well. Turned out that Scott was going to have summer school too, and working with Deaton to save up for “something cool”. He refused to tell Stiles what it was, and only told him that he’d see it when he came back.

He hadn’t seen much of the others. Lydia was still on tenuous ground with Jackson and they were working on it. Allison disappeared to France with her family. And Derek...well, Stiles tried looking for him, in spite of his better judgment, but couldn’t find him.

In the end, Stiles figured that Scott would tell him, if Derek even noticed he was gone.

And that’s how Stiles left—bidding his father goodbye in the ungodly hours of the morning (some of the longest hugging of his life, honestly), making the drive upstate to the training ground at Mount Shasta. In the back of the jeep were his things, and on the passenger’s seat was the scarlet hood from his mother.

“Talk about off-road…” Stiles muttered to himself as he looked around. He was a long way off the usual paved roadways and deep into the mountainside terrain. There were no indications, no signs, and barely even a path to follow. Every roll of the Jeep rattled him. At this point, he was just following tire tracks from people who may have gone this way ahead of him. Sure, he had a map, and a general direction of where to go as instructed, but that didn’t necessarily mean he knew where he was going.

He didn’t see any form of civilization out here save for a lone police officer who obligingly gave him directions to “that summer camp” that led him to this dirt path. And that was the last time Stiles saw a human being in what felt like ages. It was mostly foliage, dirt, rocks, and the sun was up by now, and it had Stiles squinting through the sun trying to find his way.

Finally, the path led towards an area with more woods, and it was blocked off by some fencing that didn’t look the least bit as though it was designed to keep anything out—more like a demarcation line. And at the entryway stood just one groundskeeper wearing a deep red jacket. He gestured Stiles to come forward to a stop as he arrived.

“Can I help you, son?” The man asked through his bushy full beard.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles nodded eagerly, glad to see a sign of life. “I’m headed for the camp, in Mount Shasta? Summer camp.”

The man seemed to look at him a little piercingly, and Stiles immediately reached over to grab the red cloak on his passenger’s seat. “I, um...I have this? If that makes sense to you?” He plastered on his biggest help-me-I-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing smile.

The keeper looked at the cloak in Stiles’ hand, and after a moment, sighed deeply. “You’re not supposed to keep that sitting on the seat, son.”

“Oh,” Stiles stared. “I’ll just go put this—”

“No, it’s too late, nevermind…” the groundskeeper sighed again. “Drive on in. Just follow the path, you’ll see the other cars. You alone?”

“Yessir,” he replied, a little bewildered.

“Well...just park your car out front first. Take it up with the officers later on grounds parking for it, where it’ll be kept while you’re on campus.”

“Thank you…” Stiles replied, a little surprised, and the groundskeeper gestured him on.

Stiles moved the Jeep into the wood, and he knew the moment when he had broken whatever barrier was between the real world and this one when he felt that searing crackle of energy peel over him and the Jeep. It reminded him distinctly of when he had first touched the hood. When he looked up again, it was as though nothing had changed, and he took a shaking breath as he moved forward.

Point of no return.

It was fair to say that ‘camp’ was _nothing_ like what Stiles had expected. When he called to mind images of Summer Camps, Stiles imagined cabins, or maybe tents, and there would be a lake nearby with canoes. There would be grounds for sports and maybe arts and crafts zones, and there would be lots of kids and duffel bags, too much sunscreen and chipper camp counselors.

Well...there certainly were lots of kids, and ones around his age too. There was even a lake distance, but it was hard to see as it was blanketed by mist, even in this hour of the morning. A waterfall crashed further on, promising death and dismemberment at the bottom, he was sure. But the camp itself wasn’t at all like he pictured.

What drew Stiles’ attention was the building itself. It was a massive, sprawling manor house, encroached with ivy and with its own ‘towers’ and chimneys. The glass windows were all cloudy with age, some of them having some stained glass here and there. It looked as though it could have seen better days but has been remarkably preserved over time. It might have been an old hotel or a wealthy family’s residence at some point. It must have stuck out like a sore thumb in the woods when it was first built, but nature had taken over it, and it looked like a grand ruin still standing, an ancient institution.

 _I feel like I walked into the set of Downton Abbey_ , he thought as he drove into the spacious front courtyard where lots of other cars and some buses were already unloading other campers onto the grounds. _Less ‘Parent Trap’, and more X-men, I’d say._

The participants of this ‘camp’ were milling around the ground, grouping into packs of kids laughing, and many of them looked as though they already knew each other. Others were saying goodbye to tearful looking parents. And Stiles saw, draped over their arms, over a shoulder, peeking from a bag or folded on top of a suitcase, were the scarlet hoods. Each and every single one of them had one. They eyed one another as though they were sizing their fellow campers out.

All at once, it felt like the first day of high school, freshman year all over again. Some posturing, judging, and split into packs of friends that they’ve known. Stiles wondered how exactly this was supposed to go for him as he hadn’t known anyone, and he was as detached from this world as they come up until last year. Their cloaks even _looked_ better. They were brand new, fine cut and bright blood red in color.

He looked to the scarlet hood he had with him. It was still fine and clean, but it had grown worn with age and use. It even had those old-fashioned metal clasps and the worn, old-fashioned embroidery on the very edges. He was pretty sure he was going to look like the charity case next to some of these kids—(was that guy carrying a _shield_?!)—but he did hold his own against werewolves, hunters, and kanimas, so he would probably stumble along fairly well. This was what you get trained for anyway, right?

Taking a deep breath inside his parked Jeep, he willed his brain to stop firing on all cylinders and only managed to make it somehow worse.

For what won’t be the first time, he wished Scott was here. It was different when you had your best friend with you. Things wouldn’t seem so daunting. But Scott wasn’t here. And Stiles had to do this on his own. He had wanted to do this.

“Alright,” he told himself. “Let’s do it.”

He grabbed the hood, draping it over his backpack, grabbed his duffel bag, and stepped out of the Jeep, heading for the manor house entrance; they were the massive wooden doors that Stiles knew immediately at a glance was made of mountain ash wood. It was strange, looking at such an old place, juxtaposed against the youngsters milling around in their modern clothes, many still armed with phones, tablets, and iPads. The flashes of red cloaks caught his eyes as he walked, reminding him of the danger. Before this, the only time he’d seen red so bright was in blood and Alpha eyes.

He wondered then, dimly, what Derek would think, if he knew what he was about to do. He tightened his hold on his hood, caught the scent of his mother’s perfume.

He could feel them watching him now, the other campers. They seemed to size him up, looking him up and down as he walked past, their eyes lingering on the scarlet hood in his possession. Stiles tried very hard to quell the discomfort, knowing that he was being judged, ignoring the soft whispers of what was likely all the reasons he shouldn’t be here, and did not meet any of the intent eyes.

 _Joke’s on you_ , he thought grimly. _I’ve had to actually spend extended periods of time with Derek Hale. None of you can glare like he can._

He stepped through the doorway without a problem. He felt the soft impact of what seemed to be heavily protective energy pressing into his skin and then melting away as he pierced through the barrier line. It was like walking into thick fog. He was about to wonder where it came from when he realized that with all the things inside, it could have been done by virtually _anything._

Inside, the foyer arched in wood and stone over him, a stern architectural presence that Stiles saw was lined with symbols in all directions. The wide entrance hall was filled with old, strange things that seemed to be a cross between an antique shop and an apothecary. And all in all, the hall had the air of stern academia mashed up with the crawling feeling one gets when stepping into a witchcraft shop.

It immediately informed Stiles that one has no business being in this place without a purpose.

Drawing his eyes away from the old world decor and all the odd adornments, he kept moving forward, to join the crowd of campers who were already in the hall and forming lines in front of a long registration table. Behind the table sat older men and women, taking note of names on clipboards. They were wearing their their cloaks over their odd uniforms, the hoods drooping down their backs.

“Some camp…” Stiles muttered to himself. This was hardly the definition of “roughing it” that he expected. It was borderline decadent.

“Isn’t it?” A voice chimed in from nearby, sounding bright and excited. Looking up, he saw a pretty Asian girl standing next to him, her dark eyes sparkling and hands jittering. She turned to look at him with a big smile that was just this side of awkward, but hopeful. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t think I’d ever get to go up here. And I thought it was going to be like tents, and cabins, and bonfires—”

“—or rowboats, yeah, I know…” Stiles nodded with an amused snort. “Me too. I mean, I had _expectations_. Just...not…” he gestured weakly to the whole thing, “...this.”

“Yeah…” she nodded thoughtfully, considering him. And after a charitable pause, added, “But I guess _you’re_ like...more used to better training facilities and stuff like that, huh?”

Stiles did a double-take at her. “Excuse me?”

“You know…” she stared back at him, wide-eyed, “Like where you live…?”

Stiles blinked, confused. “Training at home? What, you mean like in sports? I mean, I play lacrosse in my team, but I’m—”

“Oh, not that,” she replied hastily. “Not sports, I meant—”

“ _Attention, trainees_ ,” came the sharp tone from a PA system. “ _Please remember to have your identification ready when you reach the registration table. Thank you._ ”

“Identification?” Stiles frowned.

“Oooooh, crap,” the girl paled, patting her pockets. “Do I have my—where did I—” and she fled from his side, her beautiful cloak—it had rectangle sleeves and was made of some kind of heavy, ornate red crepe; and seemed old just like his— rustling heavily in her wake.

“Identification…?” he murmured belatedly as she disappeared into the crowd, having forgotten him in her panic.

Swallowing hard, he looked around wondering what identification they needed. He still had his driver’s license with him, and even his ID card from school, so maybe that would be enough?

He made his way to one of the queues,  keeping hold on his his bags, and he continued to have that strange feeling that he was being watched. It wasn’t until he turned his head to look around and saw other trainees hastily looking away that he realized that they _were_ staring at him and his old hood.

Setting his jaw stubbornly, he kept his eyes to the queue ahead of him. So maybe his hood was old instead of straight off the steam press, and he had no idea what he was doing.  Maybe he was a skinny loudmouth who didn’t have a clue. That was fine. He was here, and that was it, there’s just no turning back. He was here for himself and for his mother, who left the option of taking this responsibility on his shoulders, who hoped that he would follow her steps. He was here to master whatever little he had, and become useful to his friends and the pack.

To _be_ someone.

He’d become so useful, Derek fucking Hale and the pack wouldn’t know what hit them. No more scrawny human cowering as werewolves go nuts, or lying paralyzed on the floor thanks to venom. No more getting nicked by hunters and tortured for information like he was the weak link. Thanks to his mother, he was going to pull his own weight and show every furry, scaly, crawly creature in Beacon Hills that the Stilinskis were _not_ bait, thank you very much.

...or maybe at least just last longer than two seconds in a fight.

“Identification?” asked the ridiculously good looking man behind the table at the queue that Stiles was standing in.

The boy in front of Stiles pulled something out of his pocket and it wasn’t an ID card. It was some kind of metal disk imprinted with a symbol. He put it down on the table, and the man behind the table took a look at it and noted something on the clipboard in front of him. “Alright then, last name and first name?”

Stiles’ mouth went dry. He didn’t have anything of the sort in his hands. The cloak was the only thing he really found in his mother’s coffer, and he didn’t know he needed to bring something like that. What even _was_ that disk? A family emblem thing?

“Shit…” he hissed to himself, shaking out his cloak, preparing to drop his bags and race back to his Jeep, hoping beyond hope that there was something there that could possibly help him, some other talisman from his mother meant to help him.

But then the boy in front of him moved away, and now it was Stiles in front of the long table. After a few moments more of writing, the man behind it raised his eyes to Stiles briefly to look him over.

Remembering all the staring eyes from the other trainees and realizing that he was about to make a fool out of himself, Stiles swallowed. “I, um…”

“Took you long enough, I think,” the man said, a small smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “I didn’t bring a—”

“So last name Stilinski, first name…?”

That was unexpected. “Sorry?”

“Your first name,” the man repeated patiently, with a glance to the cloak Stiles had. “Apparently it’s not something everyone spells or says right.”

Baffled, Stiles responded, “Stiles, please. Just...Stiles. How did you—”

“Instructor Parrish?” A woman from behind the table suddenly called, coming up to the young man in front of Stiles.

“Yes, ma’am?” the young man asked.   

“The council of Druids apparently would like a cursory glance at the demographics once we’re done registering the trainees. The usual concerns about representation, of course. They also want to make sure that their own attendees made it in alright. Please have your sign in sheets copied the moment you’re finished.”

“Will do, ma’am,” Parrish replied with a smile.

Now the woman in the cloak looked at Stiles, and she smiled. “Welcome to the fold, Mr. Stilinski. We were hoping that Claudia’s boy would choose to join us, daunting as the task may seem. But I’m certain you’ll manage.”

And she simply strolled off as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

Stiles was standing there, jaw hanging and completely shell-shocked even as Instructor Parrish continued writing. Finally, he managed to choke out, “I...may be having a Harry Potter moment here. ‘ _Yer a wizard, Harry’_ and all that. Why do people even—”

Parrish gave him a disbelieving expression. “Why wouldn’t they?” And he held out a card to him. “Your proximity card. Please stay in the quad and wait for your assignments. We’ll announce them once everyone gets in.”

The tone was final and dismissive, though not unfriendly, and Stiles could only accept, completely baffled as he zombie-walked to his left, heading for the large doorways that the other trainees were already going through.

Stepping into the light, he reminded himself that Parrish had called it a quad, but in actuality it appeared to be a massive stone-paved courtyard different from the gravel-lined one that Stiles had first arrived to. It was surrounded on all sides by the manor house itself, towering high like walls. Around him, the other trainees stood waiting with their friends, or sat around on stone benches, and they were all wearing their cloaks. Some had them worn them like capes, while others had gone ahead and pulled their hoods up.

Sighing and resigning himself, Stiles carefully set down his things and took the hood to put it around his shoulders. There was a strange familiarity to it, as though it was something he had done a long time ago. He fastened the old metal clasps that contrasted with the surprising softness of the cloak brushing around him; he picked up his things and once again resumed his trudge through the quad, looking for somewhere to sit down.

Again, he wished Scott was with him. He felt alone in this big place, with its occupants’ watchful eyes. He might not have been the most popular boy in Beacon Hills, but at least he had his friend Scott, and that was all that mattered. Of course, things changed ever since Scott turned into a werewolf and started dating Allison, and then all concerns went mostly to stopping the “Monster of the Week” in Beacon Hills.

He reminded himself that he wasn’t really here to make friends. He was just trying to get himself fighting fit, ready to take on whatever gets thrown at him and the pack, proving to them and himself that he could be as much a part of them as anyone.

...All of them would _have_ to acknowledge him then. Or at least take him a little more seriously.

Stiles stood, watching the cloaks swish by, and wondered if there were any other hapless mortals in this quad. Surely he couldn’t be alone.

When the snarl, distinctly non-human, vicious, and familiar—so normal to Stiles’ world now that he barely registered that it was unusual—broke the air, everyone in the surrounding area turned to look just in time to see a boy younger than Stiles hitting the stone bricks on his ass. He was staring up at another boy, taller, who was partially wolfed out, golden eyes glowing. The wolf then burst into laughter along with his friends, changing back to human.

“S’not funny,” growled the younger boy amidst the tittering of the other trainees, who obviously didn’t think any of this was unusual.

“Yeah it was,” laughed the werewolf, making everyone around laugh even more. “Oh come _on_ , that can’t have freaked you out—how the hell are you gonna handle all this, then?”

The boy on the ground was now getting up and snarling, and looking as though he was about to hurl himself on the werewolf—which as Stiles knew very well would’ve been a _very_ bad idea—and so Stiles immediately threw himself between both boys.

“Come on!” Stiles burst out at the wolf, yanking the younger boy—who shrugged him off instantly—away from him. “We’re all friends here, right? Ix-nay the wolfing-ay. What’d he even do to you, man?”

The werewolf was about to snap back, but his eyes flitted to Stiles’ cloak. He made a face instead. “Hell, we were just kidding. What’s the big deal anyway? We’re just playing around.”

“What’s the big—?” Stiles’ eye twitched at him. “How about the big deal is that you’ve got fangs and wolf senses and wolf strength and he hasn’t? Like people knowing that if a wolf like you can’t keep it together in a place like this, how safe are you to be around, huh? You got an Alpha? Does he let you go around pushing people and messing with their heads? Is that how you guys ‘play’?” he added air quotes.

The werewolf just made a face again, clearly finding Stiles irritating, but he only muttered something that sounded like him not needing an Alpha here, shifting on his feet and making to move away.

“Oh!” Stiles spread his arms, going for the opening. “What’s that? You don’t have an Alpha? Is that why you act like that? So, what, you’re an Omega that’s posturing ‘coz it makes you feel cute? Is that it, wolf boy, does picking on people who can’t fight back make you feel all big and strong, huh?”

The younger boy now yanked Stiles back. “You’re so _weird_ , cut it out already! Leave it alone.”

The group of boys and the werewolf were already moving away, shooting dark looks at Stiles as the trainees around them looked a little amused.

“Yeah that’s right,” Stiles huffed out after them. “Next time you feel like putting on a show for the benefit of the non-wolf audience, you go ahead and let us know!”

There was actually some laughter from some of the other trainees and in spite of himself, Stiles felt himself puff up a little in a glow of pride. He had no idea how any of this even worked, or even how he actually put them off—bravado isn’t usually the first weapon against a werewolf—but any port in a storm and all that.

But the boy he helped out just shook his head at him, looking almost annoyed. “Why’d you have to go and do that, man?”

Stiles stared at him, perplexed. “What are you talking about? He was being an asshole! And trust me, I’ve seen my share of wolfy assholes.”

“Yeah, he was being an asshole _to me_ , not to you,” the boy huffed. “I could’ve taken care of it on my own, okay?”

“Well _sorry_ for trying to keep you from being puppy chow,” Stiles snapped in return. “I won’t make that mistake again, then,” he added, turning away.

“Hey, hold on!” The boy grabbed his shoulder, but immediately jerked his hand back, as though he was worried Stiles might not have liked to be manhandled. “Look. I’m not trying to be rude or anything, ok? Sorry. I appreciate what you did. Just...it’s the first day here and I’m not really sure of my footing and I’ve still got a lot to prove, alright? I know people probably think I’m a lightweight and that I shouldn’t be here…” he trailed off with a shrug. “Anyway, you had to stick up for me and...that just proves them right.”

“Look man, don’t sweat it,” Stiles clapped a hand between the other boy’s shoulder blades. “Everybody’s gotta start somewhere, right? Isn’t that why all of us ended up here? I mean that’s what _I_ tell myself, and it’s not really working for me so far, this is just the result of seventy percent bravado, thirty percent winging it, but there you go. I mean it’s my first day here too, like you.”

The other boy gave him an incredulous expression, giving Stiles a once over mistrustfully. “...seriously?”

Stiles furrowed his brow. “Yeah, seriously.”

The other boy just shrugged and screwed up his face a little. “You didn’t—you don’t _seem_...like it’s your first day...I mean…” he gestured to the direction of the werewolf from earlier.

“Pfft,” Stiles barked out a laugh and waved it away. “That? Nah. Trust me, I just know my way around werewolves at this point. Especially ones that like to posture, I’ve been on the receiving end enough times. Way too many grumpy werewolves in my town. ...including one with particularly grumpy eyebrows.”

The boy blinked. “Lots of wolves where you’re from, huh?”

Stiles snorted. “Popping up everywhere like daisies, throw a rock in any direction and you’ll hit one. And they’re the kind that don’t even stay _dead_ when they’re taken down too. I mean seriously, not fire, nor electricity, not even Hunters or _deadness_ can get to those wolves. You should see some of the stuff some of them do, I mean I got my head beat into a steering wheel by the local Alpha. It’s a twenty-four-seven wolf watch out there.”

The boy’s eyes were wide in a mixture of awe and horror, and the trainees listening to them enraptured. “Seriously? Dude, where are you _from_?”

“Beacon Hills, California,” Stiles blinked.

The other boy literally took a step back from Stiles at this point, the other trainees looking startled. “You’re from _Beacon Hills_ ? Like actually _in_ Beacon Hills? Like...I live not that far from there, but you’re actually _in_ there. In the eye of the storm. You.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him a little in suspicion, vaguely aware of the collective reaction of the people around him, whispers hissing all around them. “...yeah.”

“Dude…” the boy shook his head. “...no wonder you’re so weird.”

“Yeah, I guess we made a name for ourselves in our little slice of paradise, huh?” Stiles replied sarcastically.

“You could say that…” the boy snorted and rolled his eyes, shifting a little awkwardly.

Stiles extended a hand. “I’m Stiles. Stilinski. My dad’s the Sheriff there. What’s your name?”

The boy eyed the extended hand a little warily, but then reached out and carefully shook it. “Liam. Liam Dunbar.”

 

* * *

PRESENT DAY: _First day of school_

 

There was that moment of hesitation before Stiles allowed himself to set foot into the school cafeteria with Scott. Mostly he was trying to prepare himself for the onslaught of students crowded in there. He was no stranger to it, of course, but given what he had been through, he would automatically feel the onslaught of their fresh new energies, and he would have to acclimate himself a little, sifting through them and setting them aside. He couldn’t help but do it anymore, he was just so paranoid and nothing about this summer helped that.

“You okay, man?” Scott asked, shooting him another worried look. Scott had been looking at him oddly all morning, and Stiles couldn’t really blame him.

He had been a bit of a mess during class, distracted, and impatient. And not in his usual way. He could feel the electric sizzle beneath his fingertips and can’t help but drum them, his own body fighting him, uneasy and restless. He had driven people to frustration with relentless pen-tapping, toe-tapping, scribbling, and non-stop fidgeting. Scott, bless him, had lasted longer than anyone else, since his prolonged exposure to Stiles’...Stiles-ness built up a tolerance. But saint as he was, even he leaned to Stiles during the period before lunch asking if he had forgotten to take his Adderall.

Stiles was fully aware that he should be in far better control than this. He had _been_ in better control. And it was only the first day back, he should have no reason to have slipped control so terribly already. He was just going to chalk it up to wanting to leave and take care of the issue with the missing Betas already.

Honestly. Two missing werewolves and something big and scary terrorizing the woods. Being in school sitting through the Middle Ages, doing next to nothing _,_ feels _irresponsible_.

“I’m alright, man,” Stiles clapped his best friend’s solid shoulder. “I need to get some food in me. Like, I’m blacking out as we speak.” And he proceeded to swoon into Scott’s arms, making the other boy burst out laughing and shove him.

“Come on,” Scott chortled, dragging him. “You just need some real food is all.” He led him into the cafeteria.

“Oh god,” Stiles groaned when they reached the lunch line, “I change my mind, Scotty. Seriously, I mean _mystery meat_ for the first day? The _first day_?”

“Yeah but they got mac and cheese too!” Scott grinned, trying to be optimistic. “And spuds.”

“I’ll try to talk em into giving us some cheese on those spuds…” Stiles answered companionably, following Scott down the line with his tray while simultaneously scanning the room.

Everything and everyone was mostly as they were supposed to be, with the exception of a handful of blooms in energies that indicated that they were distinctly not “ordinary”. Surreptitiously, Stiles glanced behind him to the lunch room, trying to pinpoint where they were coming from, and found exactly who he expected.

Jackson once again held court on his table, sitting at the head, and apparently having some kind of debate with Danny about what the mashed potatoes are made of—“I can’t smell a single bit of real potato in all this, I swear, it’s powdered or something.” “What about the chunks…?”—while near them sat Allison and Lydia.

Allison was her expected self; if anything, she seemed more conspicuous, radiating the kind of energy that was expected from Hunters. She was light but strong, like a rapier, a weapon. But what surprised Stiles was how _Lydia_ was presenting.

In spite of himself, he had to turn around to glance at her. She sat with Allison, not particularly sociable today or so it would appear. But to Stiles’ trained senses, he could feel her radiating a strange, vibrating, cold energy, branching out like a web or like the roots and branches of a tree. It sidled and crawled over to other energies, sensing them out.

So enraptured was Stiles by this odd presentation coming from Lydia (and she scarcely seemed aware of it herself), that he realized late that the same branching energy seeking things out was about to find _him_.

He belatedly pulled his control back in and whipped his head away just as Lydia seemed to turn around, puzzled, to look at him. If she was surprised, there was no indication on her face.

 _That’s new,_ Stiles thought grimly. _Since when has Lydia started to do that…? Or maybe I just never noticed before...I didn’t know_ **_how_ ** _to notice before…_

“Hey, man…” came Scott’s soft, sympathetic tone, hand landing on Stiles’ shoulder so suddenly that Stiles nearly dropped his tray. He barely caught it again and, while humiliating, served to add to his cover.

Scott gave him a smile that was almost a little too understanding. “Look, maybe...you and Lydia… Well maybe the timing’s not right, that’s all. You’re in different places right now, there’d been a whole lot of stress that your relationship with each other went through…”

 _Oh right_ … Stiles blinked. _Lydia and Jackson. Scott thinks—Oh right._

So Scott thought he was staring at her because he had lost her to Jackson. Again. After all the efforts he had made. It strangely flattered him to realize that he hadn’t even considered a romantic relationship with Lydia for so long that it had started to become a foreign concept to him. Maybe he wasn’t as hung up on her as he thought.

 _Sure. Let’s go with that._ “Yeah,” he nodded. “No, yeah, I totally get it, man. It’s just…” he gestured wildly to space. “A weird place. It’s a weird place right now. Awkward. But good awkward, you know? I mean...Jackson’s at least been taking care of her, right? She’s happy? That’s what’s important here. This is good. This makes sense. It’s a thing. A thing that is happening. That we’re moving forward. Like adults.”

“I mean…” Scott shrugged while nodding, “Last time was just so heavy, you know? There’s so much to take in. Stuff both of you had to do that you didn’t want to, a whole lot of complications… It was a really difficult time and you both made your choices and stuff you both had to fight or… Maybe she just really needs that space, you know? Being in different places right now ...and that doesn’t mean you’ll never ever get back together, it’s just—”

“Wait, wait—hold on,” Stiles squinted his eyes at him as he slapped a palm across Scott’s chest to stop him from walking. “Are we...still talking about me and Lydia or is this coming from a different place now? It sounds like it’s coming from a different place. Like you’re totally not even talking about me and Lydia.” He raised an eyebrow.

Scott gaped and flustered for a few moments at him before he crumbled. “...Allison wants space.”

“So you’ve said…” Stiles nodded, vindicated.

“And we _have_ had space. All summer. Plenty of space. Oceans of it. Light years.” Scott sighed in the most mournful way that only a wolf could as he plonked down his tray on an empty table, himself along with it. “...I just...I miss her.” He stared at the back of Allison’s pretty dark head. “I miss her so much, Stiles.”

“I know you do, man,” Stiles nodded, sliding onto the seat next to him, prepared to put on his best ‘supportive bro’ face. He patted Scott’s back heavily. “Just think back on that long train of thought that you just laid on me. You really sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than you were me, honestly. As for me and Lydia, well…”

He shrugged and let it trail off. He remembered his great ‘plan’ to win her over, how he was so absolutely sure that they were meant to be. He laughed to himself, maybe a little more bitterly than he’d wanted it to be. “It’s funny, you know… how like, in the big scheme of things, is this _really_ what I was worrying about? Seriously…? We have werewolves, hunters and Kanimas and this is what I…” he shook his head. “I mean, I missed her, sure, but not in _that_ way. It’s like I missed that big brain of hers more, being able to connect with her and it wasn’t even a romantic thing because I was so worried about other stuff and... Time really puts things to perspective…”

“...really?” Scott stared at him. “All that in three, nearly four months after you’ve pined for years?”

Stiles flustered. It hadn’t _been_ so short a time for him. It had been a year, and felt longer. “I mean—”

They were interrupted by a tray plunking down onto their table without so much as a by-your-leave. Both of them looked up to see Isaac settling himself in across from them. “Hi,” he sighed, and promptly began digging into his food like he was ravenous.

“Hey,” Scott nodded, surprised, but obviously a _lot_ less flabbergasted by this than Stiles and his fishface, giving his best friend a double take.

“Sorry, is this…?” Stiles twitched, gesturing to the two of them and facing Scott when it began to appear that _no one_ wanted to catch him up on this development. “Is this a thing now? This is a thing we do now? Isaac sitting with us?”

The curly-haired werewolf just blinked his big eyes at him, chewing, and then looked at Scott for the answer. Scott just crinkled up into his usual lopsided smile and gestured to Isaac. “We’ve been...hanging out during the summer, you know? He helped me out with some of my classes too.”

“Yeah,” Isaac nodded, carefully, making sure that he wasn’t completely intruding on the situation, knowing that the friendship between Scott and Stiles was more or less legendary. “And I mean, _technically_ it’s not sanctioned by Derek or whatever…”

Sighing, Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face at this latest proof that Derek Hale had as much grip on his Betas as a man trying to hold onto a handful of water. “Right, I figured that.”

“Scott said you were going to help look for Erica and Boyd?” Isaac asked conversationally, clearly not going to bring up the fact that Stiles had been shut down on the very idea by Derek himself.

“Yeah, that’s the plan…” Stiles nodded with a sideways glance at Scott, who was obviously going to be telling Isaac things. He received big puppy eyes in return. “Can’t just...sit here and not do anything about it. But there’s no way I can do that in the dark.”

“Well...Isaac can tell you what he knows,” Scott volunteered. And then _he_ was on the receiving end of a wide-eyed stare from Isaac. “...come on, you can give us something, right?”

“I…” Isaac squirmed uncomfortably. “I mean...maybe.”

“You want to find Erica and Boyd or don’t you?” Stiles raised his eyebrows at him. “Come on, Derek’s being ridiculous. It would work a lot faster if there were more heads working on this and you know it. I caught Danny and even he says that you guys are mostly playing marco polo in the woods at this point.”

“Alright, I get it,” Isaac sighed. “And I _do_ want the others back, okay? And I’m sure he won’t say it out loud but I think Jackson does too. I heard him mutter something about missing them after we got our asses kicked at training.”

There was a violent choking noise from the other table as Jackson seemed to have swallowed some mashed potatoes too fast, going down the wrong pipe, making everyone look at him. As Danny smacked a hand onto Jackson’s back, the werewolf bestowed a bloodshot, _baleful_ glare at Isaac, making it clear that he’d heard the discussion.

Isaac merely smirked at him, chewing his food, _daring_ him to say something.

Stiles and Scott could barely breathe, they were choking down their laughter so hard, their heads almost knocking together. Jackson snarled and tried to stand, but both Danny and Lydia, in fond exasperation, pushed him back down into his chair, werewolf strength notwithstanding.

Stiles was still giggling when Scott suddenly swatted him across the chest with his knuckles. “Shhh! Here she comes, here she comes.”

Allison had risen from her place at the table and was walking towards them with a purpose. Scott immediately sat up and braced his elbows on the table, trying to look contrite, but only managed an expression of such shining hope out of his eyes that Stiles almost felt sorry for him. Isaac took a look and immediately scooted away to Stiles’ side—the memory of being stabbed by that girl was a powerful thing.

All three boys stared up as Allison arrived at the table. “Hi,” she breathed, wringing her hands a little.

“Hi!” Scott leapt to his feet in record time, making the other two stare. “Hi, um… hey. Been awhile. So how was your summer?”

“Good!” she replied, nodding up at him. “It was good! France was, um...it was great, meeting family and getting a bit of…” she made a small punching gesture, “...you know…”

“Yeah?” Scott was nodding like a bobble head. Stiles and Isaac looked at each other, a little pained, and both resumed eating. “I mean that’s good, great! I was, well...I had summer school. Did lots of work with Deaton. I got a new bike! It’s kinda awesome.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” Scott was smiling so hard the top of his head was going to come off. “Do you um, want to sit with us? Have you had lunch yet or…?”

“Actually…” Allison managed an awkward smile, “I’m here to talk to Stiles…?”

All of them looked at Stiles, who had his cheeks full of macaroni and cheese. Scott looked stunned as Allison stared at him. Stiles’ eyes flicked from Allison to Scott and back and forth. “...me?”

“Yeah, that thing I wanted to talk to you about…?” Allison prompted.

“That—” Scott stammered, looking from her to Stiles, perplexed. “What—?”

Stiles looked around and saw no aid—even Isaac was staring with big blue eyes at him, and so he just smiled gingerly at Scott as he swallowed his mouthful of mac and cheese. “Yeah, that. Okay, then...” he hauled himself to his feet.

Allison looked relieved, stepping alongside him, even as Stiles patted Scott’s shoulder and said, “No listening, ok, bud? Both of you?” He glanced back to Isaac who just looked surprised.

“I would not!” Scott protested, flushing, though he stared from Allison to Stiles with obvious curiosity on his face. Isaac grabbed him by the back of the shirt and carefully yanked him back down to sit as Stiles moved away with Allison.

By the time they had moved a good distance away, Stiles amicably bumped into her in the way a friend might casually do. It didn’t fool Allison for a minute, as she glanced up to him suspiciously the moment she felt what he had slipped into her pocket.

“I trust Scott,”  Stiles immediately told her in a tone that brooked no argument, stepping outdoors with her. “It’s all the rest of the people who might possibly have super hearing that I don’t.”

Allison nodded slowly, the stone in her jacket pocket smacking against her hip. “I get it. Can’t be too careful.”

They moved past most of the crowd and towards the direction of the treeline near the school, towards where Coach Finstock usually aimed to torture the team with their runs. Allison scanned the area and remarked, “If we’re trying to avoid people with super hearing, woods aren’t the best bet.”

“Yeah, but we’d see them coming if they’re near, at least,” Stiles answered, shoving his hands into his pockets before finally facing her.

“Huh….” Allison tilted her head at him, studying him. “You sure seem...paranoid.”

“ _That_ I’ve had from the beginning,” Stiles replied matter-of-factly, nodding. “I’m paranoid. I cover my bases. I need an escape route every time. At the time, I was skin, bones, and sarcasm against supernatural juggernauts, I basically had no choice.”

“And...now?” Allison smirked a little bit. “Not just skin, bones, and sarcasm.”

“Still all that,” Stiles clarified, smirking back. He twiddled his fingers. “Just a little extra.” He sighed and grabbed the hood of his sweater. “So! Do you want the whole…” he gestured to himself absently as he yanked up the hood over his head, “...the whole official deal or do you just want to keep this informal?”

Allison grinned. “ _Should_ I be formal? Is this a formal meeting between the next head of the Argent family and Beacon Hills’ official Arbiter? _Are_ you the official Arbiter?”

“Hood, please,” Stiles grimaced, shoving the hood off his head. “Hood, not Arbiter. The casual term is fine. How did you even…?” He looked at her in confusion, certain nothing he had done would give him away.

She smiled now, faintly, gesturing to him. “You have a… I don’t know how to describe it, actually. The way you carried yourself. It reminds me of how I was after I got trained properly.”

“Don’t say glow. Do _not_ say glow, Allison, don’t you dare.”

She actually laughed now, and the seriousness seemed to be broken. “It’s not a glow. But it _is_ something. And it definitely didn’t use to be on you when I last saw you.”

“And you mind just jumped to the conclusion that I might be a…?” Stiles made a face, gesturing to himself.

“Oh, we’ve figured for a while that you had potential to be something, Dad mentioned it. Just ‘what’ wasn’t clear and you never really presented. But then we heard from the family in France that there was an Arbi—I mean a Hood—coming to Beacon Hills at last and then I heard you went to a “summer camp” and then saw you today and...well…” she shrugged.

Stiles scratched his head. “I guess technically I _am_ the official one.”

“They _really_ assigned you here,” Allison blinked.

“No, I _asked_ to be assigned here.” Stiles sighed. “Apparently they won’t assign people here if they could help it. Or at least not just the one Hood over all of it. They said that, given previous incidents, Beacon Hills is…” and now Stiles smiled at her, “...a ‘very volatile zone’.”

Allison sighed deeply. “Yeah, I think I want this to stay informal. Might be a little less stressful.”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded, letting out his breath. “Let’s get to the main problem.”

“Yes.” Allison’s tone changed, just as his had. She stood taller, chin up, with her voice in the tone of a leader. “I’d like to know where the Argent family stands in the eyes of the Judicators and the rest of the Hoods. I and the rest of my family are aware that what my aunt did…” she took a breath, “The incident with the Hales involving my aunt started a chain of events that ultimately led to the situation today. Jeopardizing humans has not ever been part of our code, and such open, blatant hunting of werewolves and other creatures in an area of truce, particularly when the wolves have not harmed humans, also isn’t part of our code.”

“And all those rules were broken,” Stiles replied in a calm, steady tone. “Wolves were hunted. Set fire to, among them children, apparently. And captured. Tortured. And humans also have been injured and caught in the crossfire.”

“I know,” Allison replied quietly. “You were one of them.”

Stiles nodded, with vivid recollection.  

“I want to know,” Allison raised her head again. “As Hunters, as part of this supernatural world and its alliances, where do the Argents stand? What sanctions do we face? What do the Judicators say? Tell me what I can do about this. I don’t want the Argents tarnished by this. However too late that may be.”

For a long moment, Stiles considered her. He forced himself to look at her as Allison Argent, the future matriarch of the Argents in Beacon Hills, and not just Allison Argent, that brave girl who loved his best friend, bent rules when they needed to be for the greater good, and fought her hardest for all that she believed in. Looking at her now, he realized...there was honestly no difference between them. There was a reason they were all drawn to her, and her to them.

“I can’t speak for all the Judicators,” Stiles finally responded. “I only know what I’ve heard around the halls. The Arbiter Majors and some of the Judicators, they said, well… They don’t completely believe that the Argents as an entire family are responsible. They believe that the actions of one or a few doesn’t reflect the entire family.”

Allison let her breath out shakily. “So we’re—”

“That is... _assuming_ the Argents will disavow and disown those strays from the code,” Stiles said pointedly, raising his eyebrows. “They said that if the Argents have a chance to get back to good standing and not be branded as rogues and made officially ‘fair game’—” Allison winced, “—then they might have to disown those who broke the code. And...that means…”

“Disowning Aunt Kate and my grandfather,” Allison whispered with a small nod. “And...maybe even my mother.”

Stiles looked awkwardly at his shoes as the silence stretched. “Look, Allison. I’m...I’m not telling you to disown your own family. I can’t do that. I can’t make you, I don’t want to. I’m just telling you what I’ve heard from them. Obviously your Aunt Kate, well, she went off the deep end all the way to a trench, and your grandfather is the original recipe crazy-cake—”

“Stiles.”

“I’m allowed to say that about him, I was on a _receiving end_ ,” he huffed. But he softened a little. “And your mom...she was trying to protect you. Any mother would’ve. ...and my mother did the same for me.”

Allison nodded somberly.  

“Your family’s on shaky ground with them, but it’s nothing that a good motivational speaker can’t fix,” Stiles smiled faintly. “Someone brave. Someone who knows what the family’s really all about, when you take the occasional bad seed out of the equation, and someone who's determined to make some real changes. Someone who was in the middle of it and got out alive.”

Allison looked up at him and Stiles smiled a little more. He looked around and made sure there was no one around before he added, “...off the record, I think if you were the one to represent the Argents, there’s a chance it’ll be smoothed over.”

“Thank you, Stiles,” she said quietly.

Stiles nodded, shifting his feet. “Yeah, alright. But like I said, all this is off the record. I can’t really speak for Beacon Hills _or_ the Hoods on this, I can’t be the official person to sort it out. It’d ‘cloud my judgement’.” He made a face.

“Well, you _are_ from Beacon Hills,” Allison replied with a dimpled smile. “You know how it is around here. Maybe that’s why they let you come here and be the town Hood.”

“Yeah well, it takes someone from around here to handle this situation,” Stiles sighed deeply. “I always knew I’d follow dad into some kind of law enforcement but I didn’t expect _this_.”

Allison laughed. “Rough first day on the job, huh?”

“God, yes,” Stiles scrubbed his face. “And I haven’t even really done anything. Freaking...Beacon Hills.”

“I’ll help out if I can. I just have to fix all this first.”

“You’ll be okay, Allison.” Stiles nodded. “You’ll get this sorted out.”

She punched his arm lightly and moved to head back into the school, but she stopped for a moment before turning to look at him again. “And...off the record?”

“Yeah?” Stiles glanced up.

“Off the record, I’m glad it turned out to be you. You’re the guy for the job because I think there’s going to be a lot of disputes to settle, and I’m pretty sure there’s a better chance of clearing things if you were handling it. Especially with the Hale pack.”

Stiles bristled. “I told you, I’m not their _representative_ or anything like—”

“Mmm, you say that now…” she smiled as she reached into her into her pocket to take out the sigil stone and tossed it to him before she walked off.

Flabbergasted, Stiles gaped after her, spreading his arms in disbelief. “I’m not supposed to have biases!” he protested after her.

“Sure, Stiles…” and she vanished down the path.

“This is the thanks I get?!” Stiles yelled after her, huffing. He grumbled a few moments, but he jumped a foot in the air when his phone went off again. “Dammit, I am _tense_ right now!” He grabbed his phone.

Another text. With a red dot.

“Frigging—why can’t you leave me alone for just _one day?_ !” Stiles growled. “I’m trying to fix my life out here, can you all not try to _mess that up_ for one day?!”

He shoved his phone into his pocket and stalked off back to the school, muttering random things the whole way.

 

Derek turned tail and fled off into the woods, heart in his throat.

 _Why…?_ He thought as he ran, heading straight back home. _Why couldn’t I hear a single thing that Allison and Stiles were talking about until it was over? That stone… What’s going on? Stiles...why does this keep happening around you?_


	5. A Golden Goose

#  **A Golden Goose**

 

FLASHBACK **:** _ First day of camp _

 

They were an ocean of scarlet. All swishing capes and hoods settled down their backs, staring up at the hooded men and women that now emerged from the entrance hall and into the quad. Eagerly, over three hundred trainees scuttled forward to them, all similarly cloaked, their cloth in different shades and, as Stiles noticed, some of different varieties.

The good looking man that he had seen from earlier—Parrish, that was his name, right?—he looked around for a moment and his eyes settled on one of his fellows. She was much older, stern-looking, distinctly East Asian, and her hood was the most ostentatious one Stiles had seen out so far. It had gilding at the edges. And its fabric, the way it was cut reminded him of what that girl earlier had, with the long sleeves. The woman looked at Parrish and nodded as she stepped forward.

“Good morning, trainees,” she said, with barely an accent to her voice.

“Good morning, Judicator Ito!” came the immediate, united chorus of the trainees, which nearly made Stiles jump.

“Welcome to the Scarlet Hall.” She eyed all of them. “Today marks the beginning of your camp. Your training. The long year of preparation in order for you to begin your paths as the Arbiters of your respective areas and territories.”

Arbiter. That word. Stiles swallowed. His father had said to him, describing his mother, but he also used a different word. 

Hood.

“The Hoods, as majority of the population tend to call us, are the equalizing force of the world that straddles the light and the darkness. Between creatures of supernatural power, and the world they move in. They are the unbiased, indisputable, expert fighting force that patrols and enforces the laws, lines, and territories, ensuring peace and order between factions all across the continent, and the world.”

She gazed at them, serene, cold, stern. “You have on your shoulders the weight of more than the scarlet hoods that you wear. You wear the tradition of generations. You wear the knowledge that your life will never again be as it had been before. The knowledge that you will devote yourselves to the calling, knowing that you will bleed, fight, kill, and break for your lives and the lives of those whose borders and territories you will protect. Those hoods are emblems of long history, of a higher authority of peacekeepers.  _ You _ will be these peacekeepers.”

For a terrible moment, Stiles thought she looked straight at him. But she moved on. “I will not lie to you. The road will be hard, and terrible. You will be held responsible for the well-being of the beings under your jurisdiction. And those of you who so choose to become emissaries in the future will be held ultimately responsible for the lives of those you have allied yourself to protect. 

“You will be burdened with the knowledge that you belong to an order of enforcers of the supernatural codes and laws and treaties. You will become the judge of disputes, the first line of defense, the last to remain when all others have fled, and, ultimately, the expert soldier capable of taking on any single threat that comes your way.”

She took a deep breath and nodded somberly. “This is the first step of your becoming. This is the first day of your trials. Today, you will begin the journey to become Arbiters.”

Silence followed after her statement. There was no applause, and frankly Stiles wished there had been. It would cover the sound of his heart hammering so loud, he was sure the werewolves in the quad could hear it.

He knew all that, of course. He knew what his mother had to do and why she did it. He knew the sacrifices she made for him and his dad and the things that happened in Beacon Hills. But it was still different to be here and to face that dark, seemingly endless tunnel, not knowing if he was going to come out the other side just as she had.

The woman, Judicator Ito, looked to Parrish again and nodded.

So Parrish stepped forward alongside another man who had a cocky grin on his face and practically sneered at the trainees. They were both holding clipboards.

“Trainees!” The other man spoke with a voice carrying over the place. “We’re about to assign you to your respective teams! Pay close attention. Because these people will be the closest thing to family you’ll get for the duration of your stay here in the Hall.”

He was pacing a line in front of the ranks. “This doesn’t mean that your teams will be permanent. There will be the occasion where you get a new member...or lose a new one. It’s not unusual for us to lose trainees during camp. They just can’t handle it. It happens. And it’s going to keep happening. I don’t expect to see all of you by the end of the first six months. Hell, I don’t even expect to see you all at the end of three.”

“Brunski,” Parrish frowned deeply.

The man just laughed. “Just remember. You better know who your team is, and stick by them. Because if  _ anything _ happens to one of you,  _ all of you _ will take the blame. All of you will be responsible. This is your pack, your coven, your circle, your court. If one of you falls, the rest of you will too. Pay close attention. And pull your weight.”

He looked at the group, now smirking. “As per usual, we’ll start the year out by choosing your captains for you. They will act as your team’s head. The first representative, the first target, the point man at all times and the de facto leader. Every three months, you get the option to replace your captain and instate a new one, or keep the one you have now. I  _ suggest _ you all make nice or you’ll have a nice mutiny on your hands. I’ve seen captains get sabotaged and captains sabotaging their teams to get a new one. It’s not pretty.”

Parrish was looking annoyed now. Maybe he just didn’t enjoy scaring trainees. Whatever it is, Stiles didn’t like it. If this was the opening ceremony then it’s no wonder that only a small number of willing souls showed up this year. 

“Let’s begin!”

As names began getting called out, he looked around, seeing the other trainees looking around and feeling apprehensive. There were whispers everywhere as they looked around, trying to see who they were possibly going to fall under.

“It always happens,” whispered a boy near Stiles to Liam. “I heard that the first ones to get picked are the ones they want to make an example of. So other people can see them fail and everyone gets spooked and fall in line.”

“Nah,” muttered another boy. “I heard they get picked so that they all get attacked first. Paint a target on their backs. Their idea of ‘motivating’ them to become stronger.”

“I heard,” whispered Liam, standing next to Stiles, “That they actually pick out the weakest ones. Get them to stumble around and screw up, and then weeded out by the others. Survival of the fittest and all that.”

“I really  _ really _ hate this,” Stiles muttered.

“Well at least they get to feel like team captains before they get kicked off,” Liam shrugged.

“Blackborn, Kyle.” The werewolf that Stiles and Liam came up against got called up. There was a murmur through the crowd as the boy rushed up front, nearly tripping in his haste, and preened. He caught Stiles’ eye and smirked.

“What the actual  _ f—”  _ Stiles bit it back, belatedly remembering about super hearing. Oh no, he was  _ not _ giving him the satisfaction, glaring balefully at the werewolf.

“Oh god, I hope I’m not on his team,” Liam grumbled.

“What the hell kind of criteria are they using?” Stiles hissed, looking around and wringing his hands. “God, it’s like waiting to get picked to play lacrosse all over again.”

“Dude, just relax already,” Liam rolled his eyes at him, a little irritated. “What's the deal with you? You’ve no room to talk, you’ll be fine. People would want you on their side.”

“What’s to want?” Stiles grumbled, annoyed. "I'm skin, bones, and sarcasm against clawed, fangy assholes."

“Raeken, Theo,” Parrish declared.

There was a rumbling wave of talk as a tall young man stepped began walking forward. He had been wearing his hood, also worn with time and a little old fashioned, but he pushed his hood away as he walked to the front. Stiles saw the face of a handsome young man with the barest smile on his face as he moved forward to take his spot as one of the captains. 

And then his eyes landed on Stiles. 

Stiles had no idea why his hackles rose at that very moment, hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, but when the other boy’s eyes turned blue right in front of him, he glared back at him, every inch of him on the defense. 

He received a serene smile in answer as Theo resumed staring straight ahead.

“What’s up?” Liam whispered, sensing Stiles tense up.

“I don’t like him,” Stiles muttered, still staring at Theo with deep suspicion. “I have a bad feeling about it. Definitely a bad vibe.”

“You get that a lot?” Liam asked, curiously blinking at him.

Parrish looked up again. “Stilinski, Stiles.”

There was an audible reverb of shock from the crowd. All heads whipped right around and looked directly at Stiles, who stood in the middle of the contingent, stock still and pale as a ghost.

Judicator Ito watched, considering him with a strange smile on her face.

Stiles swallowed, heart going a mile a minute, looking around at the staring eyes. He leaned back slightly to mutter to Liam, “...yeah, I’m getting that feeling right now.”

  
  


* * *

PRESENT DAY **:** _ First night back _

 

It had been almost too easy to shake off Scott, so much so that he felt like the worst of villains when Scott believed him. Stiles had said that he had promised to see his dad first thing and talk to him about camp. And that he wanted to spend time with him. Scott very easily surrendered the scheduled bro time, but Stiles had the suspicion that it was in part also because of Allison, who hung around after school and indicated that she and Lydia wanted to talk to Scott about something important.

From the way Jackson was hovering and Isaac idling nearby, Stiles suspected that it hasn’t much to do with Scott and Allison’s stalled relationship, and more of the ongoings in Beacon Hills. This was all the better—he could wheedle the info out of Scott later.

After leaving Scott with them, Stiles had gone straight home, sealed the house again, and checked his phone messages.

Four messages on their group. 

 

_ Hey, did you get in ok? Lines are active. We can be anywhere at your call. Just let us know, ok? - L _

_ Stiles, got word that the girl’s energy changed. Majors say she’ll be awake soon! What should I do? - K _

_!! Stiles!! She WOKE UP! What do I do?? - K _

_ UPDATE: She woke up and stayed awake long enough to look around the room, then before we could get her to answer anything, she was out again. Majors say she’s back into heavy sleep. Will update on any more changes. - K _

 

_ Well shit _ , Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face. A bullet dodged, but that bullet was a harsh reminder that there was just so much more to his life now. And that when he was warned it will be hard to handle two, they weren’t kidding. 

_ But I’m not ready to make those two into one just yet… _ Stiles decided somberly.  _ At least not until I’ve gotten through to Derek. _

He fired off a message to the group.

 

_ No current emergencies here. You guys know you don’t have to do this, checking in with me, right? Anyway, just sound off here if you get yourself into anything and need backup. I’m just sorting something out here myself. As for the guest, just keep an eye on her. Let me know if she wakes up again. First thing you make clear to her: She’s safe, and we’re taking care of her. _

 

Under a minute since he sent the text, a chorus of affirmatives responded to him, as though they had been waiting. He sighed and pocketed his phone. So that was one end handled for the meantime. It was time to do some work. He got up and made dinner for his father as he waited for nightfall.

(“Okay dad, I’ve got good news and bad news. What do you want first?”

“Stiles, son, just…”

“Okay, so the  _ good _ news is—” and he revealed dinner with a flourish, “you get to eat whatever you want tonight! Yay! I made burgers! With bacon! And baked potatoes with cheese! And steak bites! Like a ‘I’m really happy to have survived and made it back home’ celebratory dinner, mostly. This is just for tonight, though, so enjoy it. I’ve basically got 911 on standby—”

“...I’m controlling my joy because I  _ know _ there’s a catch here somewhere.”

“That would be the bad news.”

Through a mouthful of the potatoes, “Which would be?”

Stiles plunked a huge glass of a neon green liquid onto the table. “I’m bringing back mom’s juice.”

The Sheriff was howling before Stiles could even finish his sentence. “Stiles,  _ no! _ ”

“Stiles  _ yes _ , I finally learned what the hell that crap was and apparently that’s crap  _ that is really really good for us _ and that means you’re drinking it again!”

“No, Stiles, you know how awful that stuff is?!”

“I’ve had to drink it for the past  _ six months _ , and when mom force fed me the stuff when I broke my leg falling off Scott’s porch roof, I  _ know _ .”

His father ended up drinking the juice and grumbling. He didn’t mistake that glimmer of a nostalgic smile on his father’s face, though.)

One of the major upsides of all this, he decided, was that he at least got to tell his father truth of where he was going and why these days. That didn’t necessarily mean that his father liked it. He and his father spent all dinner talking about how things went at camp. His father was suitably impressed by everything that happened, even told him a few things more about what his mother was like after she had come back from camp. But he could tell he was concerned about him, and the things he had gotten himself into.

When he told him that he was going to the woods to search for Erica and Boyd, his father hesitated for a very long time.

Stiles dropped a hand onto his shoulder. “Dad. I’ll be alright. I promise.”

“Still…” his father looked hesitant. “...I would feel a lot better if you were armed.”

“Literally so many teenagers in this world would be so happy to hear their parents willingly giving them something to protect themselves with, but dad, in this case…” Stiles smiled, “...I can handle it. I don’t need to bring weapons right now, I’m just tracking.”

“I want a panic button,” his father said. “No, no, Stiles, that’s not up for discussion. I want you to have your phone with you and you  _ call me _ the nanosecond that you get into anything hairy out there.”

“Hairy literally or…?”

“Stiles!”

Stiles held up his hands in surrender. “Panic button, got it. But I’ve got this. I’m not planning on getting into a fight. You gotta trust me too, dad.”

“I do, Stiles. I just...I want to make sure you’ll be okay. I don’t care what kind of training you’ve had. You’re all I got left.” His father’s pained smile cracked his heart into two. He gave him a very long hug, one that he suspected will happen a lot in the future.

It warmed him a little, to think of this, at least, bringing him and his dad closer to each other.

He supposed there was irony in this somewhere. Him—wearing his scarlet hoodie with the hood up—wandering the deep woods in the dead of night. And he was absolutely certain that the big bad Alpha told him he was supposed to let this go. To not do this. He was probably somewhere in the woods too, lurking. Which was really troublesome and quite frankly, Stiles could have done without. But he would have to take the risk, there just was no more time to lose. They had been missing too long.

He had something else to answer to other than Derek right now.

The bullets clinked in the vial in his pocket, the strip of cloth fluttering. Stiles carefully followed the path that Isaac said that he and Derek and Jackson had first come to a stop to. This was the same path that both Betas had taken before they were caught. If this was to be done, it has to be done here, where their blood must’ve fallen to the earth.

Stiles looked around the clearing in the wood before he carefully knelt down, placing his palm to the soft earth. In this place, Boyd and Erica were captured. This should be the place where he could resume following where they had gone.

Using his palm on the earth as the central point, he stretched out like someone doing a one-armed push-up onto the ground, his toe marking the ground as he traced a circle all around with it. Once he had made his circle, he took a stick of mountain ash and began creating the lines and crosses, etching the markings onto the earth at the circumference to complete the sigil. 

He dug deep into his pockets and he took out significant items representing each direction and their corresponding element, and positioned them carefully in the sigil. 

Finally, Stiles took his position at the center. He plucked out one of the bullets, and the strip of cloth in his palm, and felt the sizzle of energy in his fingertips, begging to be released. He smiled wryly to himself. He had been in control all day. Time to make use of the pent up energies.

He looked up, eyes blazing again. “ _ Raz da sh’all _ ,” he whispered the command.

The entire sigil responded instantly to the flush of energy from Stiles. It illuminated in its tracks, the items at each focus point igniting and pulverizing into fragments of light that dissolved into the air, rising to Stiles, whose palm was open. The bullets began to lift off from his palm, the cloth fluttering around them in the air, as Stiles continued to focus intently, eyes glowing.

“ _ Sii ilais azrus! _ ” he commanded.

One bullet whizzed through the air as though it had been shot again, the cloth shooting after it like a flag whipping in the wind, shooting comets in the darkness and headed to a single direction. Stiles blinked in surprise.

_ Huh _ .  _ I guess I put in a little too much juice in that one, hah! _ Grinning broadly to himself, he punched the ground, and the entire earth-etched sigil ‘jumped’, scattering back into ordinary ground. With a stifled crow of triumph, Stiles took off running in the direction the bullet and the cloth strip went.

And god, did it feel good to run! Stiles felt the wind whistling in his ears and his body flooded with the tingling of energy. It felt  _ good _ , to just let go. After a whole day of sitting still in school, being the Stiles everyone knew him as, he felt so unbelievably free in a way that he didn’t realize he could be. He had become so used to being a Hood, running and using his strengths, that it was going wild inside him.

He almost burst into a laugh, he was hurdling over bushes and fallen trees, fast as his legs could carry him. It brought him immediately back to his exhilaration during his training, when he had energies fluttering from his fingertips and buzzing at his ankles and glowing broad and warm in his chest. He was like lightning through the trees.

The bullet and the cloth were glimmering, ‘waiting’ for him, at one of the trees, quite a way into the woods and certainly further than where Stiles usually wandered to. He skidded to a stop, grinning broadly, barely even out of breath. “Whatcha got for me?” he asked the two levitating items, grabbing them. Looking at the tree a little more carefully, and his breathe caught.

He reached out and carefully pulled away a branch in his way, gently trailing his hands over what looked like a claw scratch on it. Big, deep, desperate.

 

“ _ No!! _ ” 

_ Snarling, urgent. _

_ Red nails, claws, scraping on the bark, digging deep, splinters going into skin. _

_ “C’mere!!” came the growl. _

_ Snatched away. _

 

“Erica…” Stiles whispered, wide-eyed, his hand on the gauges.  _ You must’ve been fighting for your life... _

A snarl broke Stiles out of his reverie and he whirled around, inwardly cursing his lack of vigilance. 

He saw a man across him, eyes cruel, massive, and laced in muscles everywhere. His eyes drew Stiles’ gaze immediately—they were burning an Alpha’s red.  He took one, earth crunching step towards Stiles.

“Well well…” he growled. “What do we have here.” He opened his fists, and revealed jagged claws.

Stiles pocketed the items and looked straight at the Alpha wolf, eyes narrowed. “Sorry, I haven’t been in town for a while. Who are you?”

“Following breadcrumbs, eh?” the man smirked, nodding towards the claw marks on the tree.  “That one…” he laughed gruffly. “That girl’s a hell of a fighter. Still is.”

Stiles stared at him. So  _ Erica’s still alive. Her and Boyd—they’re still alive! _ “Where is she? And Boyd, I know you’ve got him too.”

“We’re not finished with them just yet, Red,” the man replied. Then he smiled mirthlessly, moving forward. “But if you’re  _ that _ worried about them, maybe you should come see them for yourself.”

Stiles didn’t move, remaining very still, glaring. “Beacon Hills already has an Alpha. It doesn’t need you.”

“Then Beacon Hills has a lot more problems than it thinks,” the man replied. His face began to change, his body bulking up as the wolf began to took over. The jagged edge of his voice grated against Stiles’ hammering heartbeat. “Because it’s got to make room for a lot of Alphas real soon.”

With a roar, the Alpha rushed at Stiles like a freight train of muscle and claws, but Stiles didn’t move, his irises blazing white gold. The Alpha swung at Stiles, making to swipe at him with claws, but Stiles ducked at the last minute, letting him embed his claws into the tree.

Stiles swung around and stepped aside. “Would you consider that an attack? I definitely want to. It always helps when they attack first, that’s how I know I’m clear to do what I want.”

“Little—” the Alpha snarled and swiped at him again. This time, Stiles parried the impact with one arm and followed it up with a powerful kick straight at his chest with all his strength. 

The Alpha stumbled back, winded and stunned, and Stiles leaped forward to follow it up by a roundhouse kick right at him. He connected the kick but the Alpha grabbed his leg and tried to hurl him—until Stiles twisted up, locking his legs around the Alpha’s neck and knocked him onto the forest floor with him.

The Alpha was furiously snarling now, clubbing a meaty fist into Stiles’ face, but on the second swing, Stiles grabbed the wrist, twisted it away, broke free and rolled away, leaping back onto his feet in a fighting stance, panting.

“What the fucking hell…” the Alpha growled, a little in shock, getting to his feet. “What  _ are _ you?” 

Stiles responded by his eyes glowing, clapping his hands together and commanding, “ _ Helio kera! _ ” 

A coat of white energy enveloped around his fists and forearms as he braced for fighting stance again, his hood falling almost over his eyes. He glared at the Alpha. “You’re violating the Magna Carta and intruding into this territory. You have admitted to taking two Beta werewolves from this territory’s governing pack by force. This is your formal warning—you are to unconditionally surrender and cooperate or you will be subdued with deadly force.”

The Alpha hissed, outraged. “A  _ Hood _ !” 

“Come get me,” Stiles snarled.

The Alpha pounced at Stiles with no restraint at all. Stiles swatted back every blow that he could but the Alpha was still stronger, aided by his transformation.  _ All brawn no brain _ , Stiles thought as the two of them grappled.  _ I’ve got to trap him. _

He swatted back the claws, impacted him with an elbow reinforced by an energy blow, and following it with a leap that jammed his knee right up the wolf’s chin, knocking him back. The wolf roared, mouth red, and he moved faster now—claws shredded into Stiles’ hoodie. Stiles tried to break a shin as he dodged a swinging fist, but he got grabbed from the back of his clothes. 

Then the Alpha struck him right in the gut, causing him to double over. He was grabbed by the front of the hoodie and he went slamming straight into a tree, crying out in pain.

Coughing, Stiles was bodily picked up by the snarling, furious wolf, a clawed arm digging into his neck and blood starting to trickle into his hoodie. “Game over, Red.”

“Whatever you say, big guy,” Stiles choked—and struck.

Stiles slammed his palms on the Alpha’s chest and fired out a small implosion of power, the force of powerful energy like a lightning strike. The two of them flew apart and Stiles hit the ground, rolling to a stop and clutching his bloody neck, coughing. 

The Alpha was still thrashing on the ground for a few moments and Stiles tried to grab the mountain ash pouch in his pockets when he heard a gut-churning roar of rage. One that he already knew. His heart dropped as he looked up.

“ _ Stiles!! _ ”

Derek was running full speed into the clearing, completely shifted, eyes burning like molten embers. Derek leaped like an acrobat and full on tackled the larger Alpha, who was starting to get up, back onto the ground. He pummelled a fist into his face, sending blood splattering.

“Derek!” Stiles gasped.

Breathless, Derek whipped around to look at him, eyes wild and still burning red. “Are you alright?!”

Swallowing and wondering how much Derek had seen, Stiles nodded. “I just—” He looked up with a start, reaching for him. “Derek!!”

When Derek turned around, the larger Alpha already swung at him, sending Derek flying into tree, splintering a new hole into it. Derek fell to the ground, barely conscious and trying to shake it off.

With a yell of rage, Stiles flew at the intruding Alpha and leaped at him, sending them both into the ground again. He cracked a glowing fist into the Alpha’s face and managed two good hits in before he got hurled off him again, sent flying. Flipping backwards in the air, he landed on the ground on his feet in the skid, his hand grooving the earth. He went running to Derek, who was getting up.

“Derek!” Stiles gasped, hands on his shoulders. “Are you okay? Hey!”

“Get out of here, Stiles,” Derek snarled as he groggily got back to his feet, recovering. 

“He’s too strong, you can’t take him right now—”

“I said  _ go _ !” And Derek roared, all claws and rage at the larger Alpha as Stiles skittered to catch up. The two wolves were brutally slashing, clothes tearing to shreds and blood blossoming onto Derek’s skin. The fight was vicious, animal, and Stiles couldn’t break into it even if he tried. Derek was hurled nearby at some point, and Stiles ran to him, heart in his throat.

The intruding Alpha was laughing even as he spat out some blood. “Derek… it’s good to see you. You’re all grown up, eh? Don’t suppose you remember me.”

The pure hatred from Derek’s growl surprised Stiles. “You’ll wish I never remembered you, Ennis.”

“Oh, what’s the matter?” the Alpha snorted. “We’ve got history, don’t we? And this time...” his eyes landed on Stiles, who stood behind Derek, “...looks like you had the presence of mind to pick someone who can put up a fight.”

“Derek, don’t listen to him,” Stiles cautioned as he heard the building, animal rumble start up from him. “He’s trying to get to you, Derek; we can’t finish this fight tonight!”

“He’s right,” Derek growled, eyes burning. “We’ve got history. And I’m putting him in it permanently.” Derek rocketed himself onto the Alpha named Ennis as combat commenced.

The brawl was vicious, flesh shredding to ribbons beneath razor claws and inhuman strength. Stiles flew at the two of them, trying to get Ennis to relinquish his hold on Derek and got himself hurled off for his troubles, so he flipped through the air again before he hit the ground in a controlled landing. There was an earsplitting roar and Ennis had Derek pinned to a fallen tree now, his claws buried deep into the curves of Derek’s neck. Derek was screaming in rage more than pain, struggling to break the hold as blood dripped into his eyes from Ennis’ bloody maw.

_ That’s it. Fuck it, I’m not playing nice anymore.  _ Throwing caution into the wind, Stiles whipped out a palm and his eyes blazed. There was a rumble and a rip of energy as Ennis was thrown like a ragdoll right off Derek by the gleaming force of Stiles’ power, sending him straight through a tree.

Stiles stumbled with the exertion and nearly fell on top of Derek, who could barely stand from the pain. “Derek, come on!”

“Stiles—” Derek gasped and coughed before he buckled and fell to all fours, almost hitting the ground facefirst, his clothing in shreds and covered in blood.

Breathlessly, Stiles looked up and saw Ennis still trying to get up. Furious and making sure Derek’s eyes were averted, his eyes blazed as he hurled another blast at Ennis while trying to drag Derek away. Stiles howled in pain as it suddenly blossomed urgently onto him, grasping chest as he felt the burning on his skin.

He knew what was there: his seal. It was warning him. Too much. He’s been using too much power already—he was nearing his maximum strain. He stifled a groan of pain and stumbled before he fell.

“Stiles,” Derek choked, stumbling down with him. Derek’s palms were on him, colder than the brand on his skin, but still burning. “Stiles, you’re hurt—”

“You should see yourself,” Stiles coughed. “I’ll be alright, we have to go!” He bit off his words when he looked into the woods. For an instant, he thought it was another wolf.

It looked like a woman, standing in the trees watching. He couldn’t clearly see her face. Stiles frantically looked back to see if she was there to help Ennis, to see where Ennis was. The larger Alpha was dragging himself painfully to his feet and stumbling towards them. Frantic, Stiles looked back to the woman.

She was gone.

“Oh god,” Stiles swallowed hard. As far as ominous signs went, he had way too much experience with disappearing spectres. He and Derek struggled to get back up, with Stiles preparing to throw another blast if need be as Derek was in no condition to fight anymore. Seal or no seal, he was going to fight.

A gunshot rang through the trees, followed by two arrows slamming right into Ennis. 

Stiles and Derek looked up in shock as the Argents, Chris and Allison, broke from the trees, weapons still aimed. “This way!” Chris Argent commanded, never taking his eyes off the other Alpha. “This way, Stiles! Derek!”

Ennis was reeling from the bullets but was tearing Allison’s arrows off him. Without warning, two figures, identical in the shadow, dropped down from nowhere, flanking Ennis. Stiles gasped when he saw two more pairs of burning, scarlet eyes. “Holy shit.”

“Come on!” Chris commanded, helping them both up, firing shots and keeping the other wolves at bay. Derek was barely conscious, and that was probably the only reason he had let Chris come so close.

“Stiles!” Allison asked breathless, weapon aimed at the three intruding wolves. “Stiles, tell me you have some mountain ash!”

“I got one better.” He let Derek’s full weight rest against Chris for a moment, standing a little way in front of Allison. Whipping up his hands, his eyes gleamed again. “ _ Rao sehi _ !”

A white wall of energy extending a long way in two opposite directions sprang up from the ground, effectively blocking their path. Stiles screamed in pain, grabbing onto his chest as his seal felt as though it was roasting into his body.

“Stiles!” Allison grabbed him as he buckled for a moment.

“Let’s go!” Stiles shrugged her off as he turned and grabbed onto Derek’s other arm, the Argents going with him, glancing back at the furious wolves that were now going to try and get around the defensive line that Stiles laid, struggling against the wolfsbane hits that that the Argents had sent at them.

The group went through the forest as quickly as they could but painfully slow as both Argent were heedful of both Derek and Stiles’ ragged state. “Is he…? “ Stiles asked, more terrified than he had been for a long time. 

“Come on, Derek, stay awake,” Chris glowered, trying to keep the Alpha up. “We didn’t do this for nothing!”

“How did you two even know…?” Stiles asked, accepting Allison’s supporting arm, looking at both Argents.

“Isaac,” Allison responded, breath short from the haste. “We saw him trying to round up the other Betas and Scott. We heard him say Derek took off like a shot into the woods, said something about you being out there looking for the missing Betas.” 

“And you decided to come along?” Stiles stared.

Chris shook his head, his face grim. “Derek’s not the only one who knows what’s out there right now, we knew it was going to be ugly even without you involved.”

“No  _ shit _ , there were  _ three Alphas _ out there!”

Derek made a gurgling sound that seemed a lot like blood in his throat. Stiles’ heart leapt to his. “Oh god. Derek? Derek, can you hear me? Come on, Derek.”

“What happened out there, Stiles?”

“I was tracking and he just—Ennis, he—” Stiles scrambled to move behind Derek. “Later, just hold him up. I’m gonna...I’m gonna try something.”

“Yeah, do it now, I don’t think he’s...I don’t think he’s all there right now,” Allison said, her face concerned.

Hands shaking and ribboned with red, Stiles pressed his palms onto Derek’s mauled back and his eyes began to glow again. Chris was watching closely as Stiles poured out energy to Derek, the wounds on Derek’s back gleaming in strange light. Stiles kept his focus intent, feeling a familiar draw of Derek’s werewolf strength on his own power, as though it transferred so easily.

The burning intensified heavily, as though someone was pushing a firebrand through his body, lancing through flesh. Stiles grit his teeth, choking out a sob but refusing to pull away, and instead kept forcing out more as some of Derek’s smaller wounds started closing.

“Stiles—Stiles, what’s wrong?” Allison demanded, seeing Stiles’ face streaming with tears of pain, and breaking one hand away to clutch at his chest. She pushed his hand away and felt over his chest for an injury, and finding nothing, she pulled his hoodie apart. 

On Stiles’ chest was a blazing sigil, smoldering like an ember, the skin around it angry and red. It was cracking further as Stiles kept a hand on Derek, skin around it bleeding. Allison gasped. “Stiles, what is this…?”

Chris looked outraged, looking almost angrily at Stiles. “You’re sealed?!” He grabbed onto Stiles’ hands, trying to pull him away from Derek. “Stop it, Stiles!”

“I can do it, just let me  _ help him! _ ” Stiles almost cried.

“Stiles,  _ stop _ ,” Chris commanded, furious. “You’ve reached the limit, you  _ stop _ right now or you’re going to do serious damage to yourself!” He yanked Stiles’ hands away from Derek, who fell facefirst onto the earth, Stiles still fighting against the older hunter.

“Dad, what  _ is  _ that?!” Allison demanded.

“He’s sealed—his powers are locked down, he’s got a maximum limit to how much power he uses and he’s used well past too much already,” he kept Stiles’ hands away from Derek.

“I have to heal him!” Stiles protested, hearing howling deep in the woods. The Alphas were coming.

As Stiles struggled against Chris, a car came skidding into the woods, braking so hard that its occupants nearly flew right out of it, and they all looked up to see Jackson’s porsche swing to a smoking stop in front of them, with Isaac, Jackson, and Lydia in it. Scott’s motorcycle rumbling to a swift stop next to it seconds later. 

“Oh my god,” Scott gasped, scrambling off the bike. “Stiles!!”

“Derek!” Isaac and Jackson ran out of the car, rushing to their Alpha, and the Argents immediately took a step back as the wolves scrambled to help their leader up, Stiles scrambling to cover the sealing sigil again.

Scott advanced at Chris, not really sure what he was seeing here and determined to get Stiles away from them, and Allison blurted out, “There’s three Alphas in the woods, and they’ve attacked Stiles and Derek. We have to get them out of here.”

“What— _ three _ ?!” Isaac demanded as he and Jackson hoisted Derek up. “What happened to them?!”

Stiles looked at the Argents, the desperation obvious in his eyes as he shook his head, begging them to not say anything to the wolves. Allison saw his expression and quickly went on. “We got there with Stiles and Derek getting attacked. We’ve kept them back but they’re coming.”

“Get in the car,” Lydia commanded the boys. “Come on! What are you waiting for?!” She herself immediately got into the driver’s seat, already starting it up.

“We have to take Derek to—” Stiles stopped himself in time, glancing at the Argents, before looking at the Betas. “Just take him to a safe place, I’m coming with you.”

“Stiles, you have to be in a hospital,” Scott insisted, holding his best friend fast. “You’ve been knocked around real bad, we have to take you to my mom!”

“No, Scott!” Stiles protested. “I have to help him, he tried to save me!”

“Go, just go—!” Chris was ushering his daughter on, as the howling came closer.

“Get in!!” Lydia cried out as the Betas dragged Derek onto the backseat, climbing in with him as they did. 

Scott tossed the helmet to Stiles and climbed on the bike, practically pulling Stiles after him. “Hang on tight, Stiles.”

“Follow them, Scott, please.” Stiles clung onto Scott, wondering if he would notice if he leeched off a little strength from him. But he didn’t want to risk it. He draped himself on his best friend’s back and tried to breathe through the burn on his chest.

The group of them, with the Argents getting into their car, blazed off out of the woods in a hail of scattering pebbles and earth. They had raced off a good distance before the twin Alphas in the woods skidded to a stop where they last stood, snarling.

Stiles let the sound fade away from his consciousness, now only hearing the hammering of his heart. He clutched onto Scott’s shirt, groggy. He could feel Scott’s voice vibrate through. “Stiles? Hang in there, man…”

“Scott…?” he croaked, knowing that Scott would hear him anyway.

“Yeah?”

“...call my dad please…”

“Your dad?!”

“...tell him...bring the juice…” He let himself float in the darkness for a while, half conscious, half out, desperately trying to soothe the pain in his chest.

This wasn’t close to over.


	6. Glass Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got a double-feature for you guys. So much thanks to the people who still read this. I'm sorry about it dragging on. As usual, life got in the way, but I tried to keep writing in between.

#  **Glass Mountain**

 

FLASHBACK:  _ First day at camp _

 

All the captains stood to one side in a row, evidently trying very hard to not look at each other. Stiles wasn’t trying all that hard, to be honest. He leaned forward a little to look at the other souls chosen as captains, and felt a little bit more anxious than he’d like to be. The others stood straight, in varying degrees of anxiety, looking out at the crowd of trainees, scanning them.

Stiles turned his eyes back to the crowd, swallowing hard. He met Liam’s wide eyes and sent out a silent distress signal, to which Liam could only shrug, wide-eyed in helplessness. 

Kyle, the wolf from earlier, straightened up a little, smirking, “You look a little green,  _ Stilinski _ . Can’t deal with the pressure?”

“You look a little constipated, Blackborn, ate too many squirrels on your way up the mountain?” Stiles retorted without taking his eyes off the crowd.

For their part, the supervisors didn’t seem to be particularly concerned particularly about the sniping, as though they didn’t just put Stiles in what was one of the most stressful moments of his life so far. And it was only the  _ first day _ . 

“I hope the Hoods give me a  _ decent _ team,” Kyle went on, his bravado evidently masking the slightest tremor in his tone. “I don’t want runts or hand-me-downs.”

“Like any crew wouldn’t pull a coup the minute they realize you’ve got a thumb superglued up your ass,” Stiles retorted.

“Enough,” Theo spoke bluntly, also scanning the crowd. 

“And now,” Parrish’s voice carried over the crowd, “We will give out the team assignments.”

A hand shot up from the crowd, waving wildly. “Sir?! Excuse me, sir!”

“Yes?” Parrish asked patiently to the pretty dark-skinned girl who was ignoring how the boy next to her was trying to shush her.

“Are we...well…” she ducked another attempt—“Vi, shhh!”—from the boy next to her. “We were wondering if it was at all possible...to, well...maybe choose the captain that we want?”

Parrish looked amused. “Do you already have one you want, Morrow?”

“Well no,” she admitted, looking abashed. “But what if there’s someone we want to try to be in a team with?”

Parrish replied, patiently, “You can start trying with whoever you get assigned to. You’ll get your chance to choose for yourself in three months.”

There were soft titters from the group of trainees, who generally considered such brazen behavior as a bit of a faux pas. The young woman didn’t look deterred, however, and stubbornly scanned the group of captains.

That pit in Stiles’ stomach wasn't improving. The girl’s question made him wonder what it was going to be like in three months when the teams get the opportunity to decide for themselves who was going where and choosing captains. He was pretty certain the the next three months—hell, the next  _ week _ —could decide what the rest of the year was going to be like for him. If he didn't present a marginally good showing, he could end up being one of those who fall to the wayside as the majors had threatened. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin as Parrish stepped forward again, with a new list. They were going to start dispersing the team members to the captains for the next quarter.

He could see Liam at the corner of his eye, looking apprehensively between all of the captains, evidently trying to figure out who was the lesser evil among all of them. While he gave Kyle a look of disdain, he looked at Stiles with uncertainty. Stiles really couldn't blame him.

“Morrow, Violet?” Parrish gestured with a pen and pointed her to Theo’s direction. The girl seemed relatively pleased; Stiles wondered if this was the captain she wanted in the first place. 

Then Stiles received his first teammate. “Yukimura, Kira.” Parrish gestured her to Stiles.

To Stiles’ surprise, the Asian girl who had been next to him during registration hurried forward, looking delighted, her beautiful cloak rustling behind her. “Hi again,” she whispered, smiling at him, extending a hand. “I’m Kira.”

“Stiles,” he replied, a little calmer knowing that his first teammate wouldn't be an absolute stranger, shaking hands with her. “Welcome aboard, I guess.”

She grinned, wringing her hands in excitement as she stood near him. “Wonder who everyone else is gonna be. Relax, you're going to be fine.”

“Relaxing...isn't really a thing I do in this kind of situation,” Stiles grimaced, glancing at her. “Anybody out here that you know?”

“Not exactly…” Kira looked doubtful. “I mean...familiar faces and names but no one that I really  _ know _ as a friend.”

“Fantastic…”

“What about you?” Kira asked, almost sunny.

“Me?” Stiles laughed. “I know nothing and no one. I’m Jon Snow times ten.”

Kira looked puzzled. “Really? But…” she eyed his cloak, “Mmm...nevermind.”

Stiles side-eyed her suspiciously for a moment, but let it slide as Parrish went and handed out more and more team members to each of the standing groups. Stiles’ next teammate arrived quickly enough. 

“Hewitt, Mason!”

“Hey!” a clever-looking young man, cloak new and shining, draped across his body, came almost bouncing to Stiles. “Pleased to meet you, I’m Mason. Research and cryptozoology.” He was shaking Stiles’ hand with such force that he was about to pop it off its socket. 

“Welcome, dude, welcome…” Stile was not particularly sure how to deal with this just yet, but in an attempt to prevent the impending amputation of his arm, patted Mason’s shoulder heavily. “Glad to have you.”

Mason seemed to mean to stand at parade rest next to Stiles, but he also seemed to be having trouble containing his excitement. “This is great, huh?  _ Fantastic _ ! First team! Oh my god, this is great. This is awesome.” He made some kind of flourishing gesture to Stiles, and then to Kira, who looked baffled. He gave two thumbs up. “Great team. I’ll do my best here.”

“Yeah…” Something about what Mason said pinged in his head. “Research and cryptozoology?”

“Yup!” Mason grinned, his smile brilliant. “Supernatural beings, species, everything that goes bump on the night—”

“Like a Bestiary...person,” Stiles replied, nodding on surprise.

“No, no, no…” Mason puffed a little with pride. “Bestiaries are for  _ Hunters _ . My research will be a little deeper than that, and goes into things even they don't deal with or haven't encountered.”

Stiles stared at him and held up a hand to stem the excitement. “Okay that’s great, really and trust me you're going to be a great asset, but...so that’s like your specialty?” He crossed his arms in contemplative wonder. “We…” he looked at Kira briefly, gesturing, “...we get specialities?”

“Sure,” Kira blinked. “Like for example, my focus is combat arts. Mostly swordsmanship, some bladed weapons in general and the like.”

“What’s yours?” Mason asked in a friendly tone, grinning at Stiles.

“I don’t…” Stiles felt heat creep into his face a little, “...have one, exactly. I mean not yet.”

They didn't seem perturbed by this revelation from their new captain and both only shrugged. “Well not everyone has one or needs one…” Kira replied thoughtfully. “I mean I only have one because…” She made a face. “Parents, y’know? My mom, she had that focus so at home that was my thing that she passed down… It’s so Kill Bill, right?” 

She elbowed Stiles a little with a grin and said this in a tone that brooked that unsaid,  _ Hood parents are so like this, amirite  _ way and looked at Stiles expectantly as though he was supposed to be in the same boat.

Stiles’ throat was dry, and his hand involuntarily touched the clasp of his cloak. His father and he had discussed so many things the night before he left for this place, but from what he could tell right now, all his mother had passed to him was the beautiful silken cloak, the coffer full of secrets, and the ‘spark’ that he apparently had.

For what certainly wasn't the first time, and far,  _ far  _ from being the last, Stiles felt that empty chasm inside him, missing his mother, and wishing he had what Kira did.

“Dunbar, Liam!”

“Oh thank god,” was the audible sigh that Stiles heard when Liam started pushing through the crowd of bodies and made a beeline to their team. Stiles extended an arm that Liam immediately took with a good grip that reminded Stiles strongly of days with Scott. “I thought I was gonna be given to  _ him _ .” He nodded to the others.

“Kinda agreeing with you there,” Kira replied, eyes wide as she looked over the others. “Kinda glad to be in this team too.”

Stiles felt a little better hearing that, grinning at them. “I guess at least we have some potential.”

“Are you kidding?” Mason laughed, gesturing to them. “We’re stacked. This is gonna be a piece of cake.”

“As long as we keep a good lineup, yeah,” Liam replied, looking out at the crowd for anyone else who might be coming their way. 

“How much better a lineup are we going to get?” Mason asked, a little incredulous. “We’ve got two scions already, and Liam doesn’t even look as new as I am. That’s more than enough advantage.”

“Talbot, Brett!”

Before Stiles could ask what Mason meant, all of them turned to see a young man being directed to them. Mason stifled a noise that sounded like a squashed rabbit as a handsome boy strolled up to them, looking a little baffled. “Uh...hey?” he extended a hand to Stiles.

“Brett? I’m Stiles.” as they shook hands, Kira waved happily to him. Stiles did a double take. “Wait, so you know him?”

“Not exactly…?” Kira replied, looking at Brett for help.

“Her mother and Judicator Ito know each other,” Brett replied, shrugging a little to adjust the worn scarlet cloak around his shoulders. 

Stiles stared narrow-eyed at the two of them, because that explained nothing to him. It was Mason, apparently  _ thrilled _ , who helpfully piped up, “He’s one of Judicator Ito’s wards.”

“Ah…” Stiles nodded, although that still didn’t explain all that much to him, and both Brett and Kira were giving him strange looks, as though surprised that he didn’t know this. He swallowed as he ducked their glances, and he looked once more to the crowd, trying to change the subject. “How many members are we supposed to get?”

“It depends,” Mason replied. “It kinda changes depending on how many came this year, and how many captains there are. And there’s a bunch of you captains, so…”

“I hope we get my sister,” Brett murmured, scanning the crowd.

“Oh, you have a sister here?” Stiles looked surprised, trying to guess who it is in the slowly dwindling crowd of trainees being allocated out to the captains. As he did, he caught Liam’s eyes, and saw that Liam had been glowering  _ balefully _ at Brett. 

Stiles shot him a narrow-eyed  _ What? _ gesture, but Liam just huffed, crossing his arms and looked away mutinously, shifting his feet.

“Talbot, Lori!”

Brett gestured to someone in the crowd, disappointed. “That’s her.”

The group of them watched as Lori walked past them and headed to stand in parade rest with Theo’s group. She caught Brett’s eye and smiled faintly before resuming staring ahead in perfect discipline, as all of Raeken’s group seemed to do. Unlike the clumped blob of Stiles’ group, who were all trying to get to know each other, Theo’s group stood in disciplined ranks, following Theo’s steady lead.

“...Scary,” Mason blinked, and then he looked up at the rest of the group. “Maybe we can get her back in three months?”

“Assuming we’re all still here by then,” Liam grumbled, arms crossed. “Didn’t you hear Brunski?”

“Hey, we might not be as Sith Lord as Raeken’s team, but we’re going to do this together for the next three months, alright?” Stiles replied insistently. “Like it or not, we’re all a team now and we have to stick together if we’re going to make it through the first  _ week _ , let alone the rest of it.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” snorted Brett. “People like you don’t have to worry about getting kicked off the training program. They even made you captain off the bat.”

“Excuse me?” Stiles bristled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Hey, hey!” Kira immediately stuck her hands between the two of them, stepping in, flashing an anxious smile. “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot here, okay? And Stiles got the luck of the draw, you know how that works.”

“Well of  _ course _ he was going to be a captain,” Brett sighed deeply. “Didn’t you see that over half the captains are scions?”

“Look, I don’t—” Stiles finally pushed past Kira to step between her and Brett now. “Excuse me, okay I’m going to pull rank this once.” He looked at all of the young people surrounding him. “What the  _ hell _ are all of you talking about? Is there something here everyone knows that I don’t?!”

“Like what?” Kira asked, baffled.

“Like what the hell is a scion?”

Mason looked stunned, and Liam looked at the sky as though imploring for the strength, turning away as he scrubbed his face. The others stared at him as though he’d grown a green ass, too appalled to speak. None of this was remotely helpful. Impatiently, Stiles gestured. “What?!”

Kira looked flustered. “Oh...that’s...it’s a sort of name they call kids who’re from… It’s not supposed to be a big deal, I mean it’s an unofficial kind of identifier—”

“She means,” Brett interjected, side-eyeing Kira, “scions are kids with those kinds of hoods. Old. Passed down instead of having brand new ones.” He gestured to the old cloak that had caused Stiles to be the subject of so many stares. “Legacy children of families that had Hoods in their lineage for a while.”

Stiles didn’t like where this was going, so they were going to have to take him there themselves. He clutched his hood, eye twitching a little. “And…?”

“And, well…” Kira made a face, “...they seem to think that if you’re from a Hood lineage, you’re guaranteed a long stay in here. That you’ll make it. Because you’ve had this in your bloodline so long that you’re...well you’ve had bigger background training and all the other important stuff even before you got here, while the others have to learn on the fly.”

Horror was creeping into every cell of Stiles’ body. It’s like that bad dream when you show up to school naked. Except they expected him to become Buffy the Vampire Slayer while doing it. Things that had been happening all day were taking a whole new light and this wasn’t good. The pressure just intensified tenfold. “... _ what _ ?”

“Yeah…” Liam scrubbed at his hair, awkward. “Rule of thumb is that the older the cloak, the bigger the bigshot wearing it is. So I guess everybody just thinks that you’re a...” He flailed at Stiles. “Dude, come on, you made Blackborn over there turn tail like a puppy!”

“And Instructor Parrish knew you…” Kira added, wide-eyed. “I heard him at the tables. So we all just assumed—”

“Assumed that I’m  _ what _ ?” Stiles exploded, a mass of limbs and disbelief. “This is why they made me captain?! This is why you think— and they think— That I’m some kind of pre-made  _ Anakin Skywalker  _ jedi knight who—?!” 

He had to stop. His heart was hammering in his ears and he could see that all the other trainees were now staring at them. His skin was tight and prickling uncomfortably, and he felt like he was starting to suffocate. He was going to have a panic attack if he didn’t calm down. The weight of expectation, from the eyes of his team that now stared at him expectantly, apprehensively, was starting to make itself evident onto his body. 

“Okay…” he breathed, forcing his hands to clasp together to stop the shaking. “Okay. All of us...we need to get this straightened out. We need to talk about what you think I am.”

“Stiles,” Kira said uncomfortably, shifting, “It’s not really—”

“Look,” Stiles interjected firmly, “I’ve just been set as your leader for the next three months. I’m responsible for all of you and whatever the hell kind of career you’re going to have in this place. And now, I learn that apparently you guys think I’m going to do a hell of a job because you took one look at my cloak and thought I was a high roller. Well—” he took a deep breath before looked at each one of them right in the eye. 

“I’m going to tell you upfront right now:  _ you’re wrong _ . Because I can tell you right here and right now, that I am  _ not.  _ Not even two weeks ago,  _ I had no idea that any this stuff existed _ . And if we’re going to make it through this, you have to know that going in. We have to know who each other is. I can’t be the leader going in blind, I need you guys to help me with that. All of us have to stand on pretty much equal footing here. Because you’re about to put your careers on the line by taking cues from me for  _ three months _ . Or we’re going to fuck up, and  _ all _ of our chances will be down the drain.”

The others looked at each other, all seemingly trying to gauge each other. This was only the first impressions. They knew nothing about each other. And like it or not, they were going to be a team for three months.

Stiles set his mouth in a grim line. “Reality of all this set in yet for you? Because it has for me, and I don’t know about you, but I’m planning on getting through this a quarter at a time. You’re what I've got, and we’re what you’ve got. And we need a solid plan. ”

“Guess this is it, huh…” Mason breathed, eyes wide and now a little unsettled. “I don’t know about you guys but...I wanna stay in this for the long game.”

“D’you think any of us feel differently?” Liam raised an eyebrow. He sighed deeply, in the manner of the damned prepared to face whatever comes. “Well...what choice do we have anyway? This is how everybody starts.”

“Yeah,” Kira nodded eagerly, clearly relieved at the change of tone. “We’re all on even footing here.”

Brett, arms crossed over his chest, just shifted his feet, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Stilinski!”

The group looked up to see Parrish now glancing to their direction. They had been so caught up in their internal revelations that they hadn’t noticed that the disbursement of members had finished. He was still holding the clipboard, and they assumed that this was for another new member. Instead, Parrish lifted his head and looked directly at Stiles. 

“Tempest,” he said simply.

Stiles blinked and looked at the others, a little startled. “What does he mean by that?”

“Team designation,” Kira smiled beatifically. “That’s what we’re going to be called.”

“Tempest.” Stiles stared at his team, and then carefully looked to the other teams. He saw Theo and Kyle watching him, the former steady and strong, the latter smirking mercilessly.

_ Okay _ , Stiles let out his breath, feeling his teammates step a little closer to him.  _ So it begins. _

  
  


* * *

 

PRESENT DAY:  _ Second day back in Beacon Hills. _

 

It was dark, and the images were hazy. They were soft and liquid, as though you were looking at them through a foggy window in the dripping rain, the glass cracked and distorting anything you saw.

There was the dark outline of a woman standing in a strange ring, her face harsh and stark shapes in the firelight. It smelled of wood smoke and ash.

Gray white, ghostly eyes.

“There is a Hood in Beacon Hills.”

There were footsteps. Thudding. Each footfall muffled by earth—were they heartbeats?

Screeching of wheels—a crash—  

_ “You should go back. Go back to see your wife…!” _

Thunder rumbled overhead. Or was that the growling of wolves? Blazing blue points of light, cold and fearsome.

“A powerful Hood. The first to come to this territory for many years.”

_ “—Be that ‘spark’ that—”   _

There was that ghostly image of Stiles lying on a bed, half covered by a sheet, pale as death and heart thudding so fast even in his sleep. Fast, but steady. strong. Still trying to recover from the stress. He seems troubled. What did he see in his dreams? 

_ “The road will be hard…” _

Lightning cracked, shattering overhead. Or were those branches of an ancient tree, snapping in the wind, casting shadows over the blue gloom?

“And one that’s unlike the last one that had been here. The one in the time of Talia Hale.”

There were voices echoing from somewhere, whispering so intently that they nearly overpowered the voices speaking.

_ “Will he be alright…?” _

_ “—not prepared for the kind of toll—” _

“Is he, now…?” It was a man. Voice low, and almost amused. The tone was prehensile. “That certainly complicates matters, doesn't it.”

There were figures, restless, prowling and lurking in the shadows. In the dim light of the moon through the trees of the woods, beyond the crunch of dead leaves and dried grass underfoot, there was the ripple of fabric. A scarlet hood ran and vanished into the trees.

It became harder to breathe like trying to catch your breath but your legs were screaming and lungs burning and you couldn't stop running—

“He won’t be alone. He has the strength of many behind him.”

“We aren’t so few ourselves,” the man replied coolly.

A flash of red. Silk, fluttering in the night. Claws tearing through skin, trailing scarlet. That breathless burn seizing up the chest—it was different now, stronger, like a lance through the sternum. There was screaming in the air, and the atmosphere was crackling like blown circuitry.

“ _ Derek! _ ”

“ _ I said  _ **_go_ ** _! _ ”

There was pounding of fists, pounding against metal. Shrieking but without words—simply making sound just to be heard. But the metal was too thick, and everything was too dark. She was getting weaker, but she wouldn’t stop, letting claws spark against metal. 

None of the voices seemed to speak to each other.

“— _ I hope it’ll make us stronger _ ,” was the whisper.

“ _ Let me heal him!! _ ”

“ _ Don’t worry, Sheriff, he’ll recover. _ ”

The woman standing in the circle opened white eyes again. Before her, the man came to a stop just at the edge of the circle that was blowing in the wind. It was mountain ash, and he would not cross it. He leaned, careful and deliberate, against a golden cane resting on the ground. Behind him shadows snapped in the darkness, like jaws and teeth, and snarling.

“Tell me what you see.”

The woman stared back at him with those white eyes. When she blinked, they turned brown. She was a familiar face. “It hangs at the balance. The choices they make from here on out will decide which way this war turns.”

“And the Hood?”

The voices rushed—one after another, going too fast, in whispers and screams—  

“ _ Helio kera! _ ”

“— _ just let me help.” _

_ “—brought that juice he asked for?” _

_ “Take my hand, come on!” _

_ “Let us out of here!!” _

_ “There’s so much at stake, it’s too much to expect him to—” _

_ “You’re not going to do this alone.” _

_ “I can’t tell them. I can’t.” _

_ “I’ll remember, whatever happens—”  _

_ “...there won’t be another one in Beacon Hills. Unless her son takes the mantle.” _

_ “Join us.” _

_ “I will never—never—let you get away with this!! _ ” __

A jagged lightning strike sang to the earth in blinding glory, striking into a massive, ancient tree, as embers imploded.

“ _ I don’t want you to die... _ ”

The woman whipped her head around, eyes white. 

She had been seen.

“We’re being watched.”

And the claws closed over her own frail neck.

  
  


 

“Lydia!”

With a start, Lydia jerked awake in terror, clutching onto the arms that held her. For a moment, the cold grip around her neck was still there and she choked for breath, looking around disoriented. Then her gaze settled on Jackson, who was staring at her as though she was the only thing happening in the world, his expression intent and concerned. 

“Lydia,” he repeated, softer, gently rubbing his hands over her arms to soothe her. “Are you alright?”

The plastic seat was uncomfortable. How she’d managed to fall asleep on it, she would never know. She managed to swallow and nod, giving him a shaky smile. “Yeah, I just…”

“You were dreaming,” Jackson nodded. “You’ve been doing that awhile now.”

“It’s weird,” she whispered. “I can’t even remember all that much of it.”

“It was the tree again?” Jackson asked.

“A little,” Lydia shook her head, frowning. “There was more. A lot more this time. There was…” What was she dreaming of? What was happening in it? The more she became awake, the more she forgot. It was like trying to catch running water. “Stiles was there.” She looked up quickly. “How is he?”

Jackson looked around a little, the people in the hospital milling around them seemingly paying them no mind. He looked back to her. “He’s alright,” he told her. “Scott’s mom said something about him needing rest. His dad arrived while you were asleep. He’s in there with him now. Look, Lydia…” he looked uncomfortable, “...maybe we should tell Derek about you having dreams.”

“Jackson, don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, drawing away from his embrace. 

“But you’ve never had nightmares like this,” Jackson protested stubbornly. “I mean sure you can’t remember most of them but—”

“You don’t know the kind of nightmares I have,” she hissed, eyes blazing, with memories of mist and boys with blue eyes still too fresh. When Jackson stared at her, a little taken aback by the vehemence, she drew herself back in. It wasn’t fair to take this out on him. Like everyone else, he didn’t know any better. “I don’t want to tell Derek about this, I don’t want to tell  _ anyone  _ about this. This isn’t anything like that.”

“Then  _ why are we here _ , Lydia?” Jackson demanded, exasperated. “You keep telling me that you don’t want to mess with anymore of this “wolf” stuff,” he punctuated that with air quotes, “but you wouldn’t let me go after Derek with the others without taking you! I told you I could take you home and I could look into what happened with Stiles or Derek by myself, but  _ you _ wanted to drive! You  _ wanted  _ to come here!”

Lydia glared balefully at him. “Well excuse me for giving a damn about what happens to  _ you _ and Stiles and everyone else. It's the decent thing to do, Jackson.”

“Look, if there's another explanation to your weird dreaming and screaming—”

She choked. “Screaming?”

“Yeah…” Jackson eyed her doubtfully. “The nurses were starting to stare so I had to wake you.” He shook his head. “Look, there's something wrong, Lydia, I can smell it off you kind of literally. And you have to tell me. Because it's  _ weird _ , and when things are weird, you have to tell me and we can do something because guess what:  _ you're dating a werewolf _ . It comes with the jurisdiction!"

Lydia narrowed he eyed at him as he stated on expectantly. She suddenly realized how tired she was of being the "weird one" in this crazy town full of werewolves and god-knew-what-else.

Allison had just about decided to step in between the two of them when there was the sound of footsteps echoing through the hospital hallway. Heads turned to look up at the stranger.

The newcomer was a young woman of their age, clad in denim and ankle boots, her dark hair falling over her shoulders onto the deep scarlet of the red leather hoodie she was wearing, hands buried into the pockets. She looked at no one, seemingly ignoring everyone, as she made a direct line to the nurses’ station.

Melissa McCall looked up from the nurses’ station when the girl reached her. “Yes?” she asked a little distractedly, “Sorry, we’re a bit all hands on deck tonight.”

“Hi.” The girl smiled as though she was going for ‘innocent’, but everyone who in the area who had been exposed for long durations to Stiles Stilinski rather felt as though they knew better. “I just came from the sheriff’s office and I heard that there was an  _ animal attack _ ?” her dark eyes were wide and full of concern, though the rest of her face did not seem all that particularly anxious about it. “They said that some of the victims were brought in here. I was just worried because my friend and his pals were in the woods tonight and he hasn't been answering his calls. I hope he’s not here.”

“Oh!” Melissa blinked, surprised, and also feeling as though something is a little amiss in this situation. “What's your friend’s name?”

The girl smiled calmly at her. “Stiles Stilinski?”

Jackson’s head whipped around to the others so fast that he could have snapped it, but Lydia held herself rigid on her seat, wishing that he wouldn’t be so  _ obvious _ . Allison was perfectly still from where she was leaning by one of the windows, and her eyes met Lydia’s. There was a twist in her gut—she didn’t like this situation, and if there was anything she knew at this moment, it’s that you don’t show your hand to anyone who could conceivably be an opponent.

Lydia kept her eyes locked on Allison as she almost imperceptibly shook her head once. Allison then looked to Melissa. For her part, Melissa didn’t bat an eye and her expression never changed. She merely looked down at the charts in front of her. “Hmmm…” she murmured contemplatively, “...I don’t think he’s here. Stilinski, you said?”

“Yes,” the girl replied, that small smile on her face, seemingly amused.

“Nope,” Melissa popped the P on the word with a smile, hand to her hip and the very image of casual, reminding the people in the hall very much of the source of Scott’s own endearing grins. “Maybe your friend’s just out with his friends. Best keep trying to contact him, make sure he’s not wandering off out there still.”

“I’ll do that,” the girl replied, smiling a little more. “I’ll go look for some help. Awful dangerous around here these days, you never know what you’ll run into in those woods.”

The lowest growl rattled deep in Jackson’s chest and Lydia squeezed his hand so hard that she was sure even that even with his werewolf strength, she might crack bone. Sure enough, the girl glanced casually to their direction, smiled as though she knew something no one did, before she casually sauntered off the way she came.

“Uh, miss? Hang on!” Melissa made to move around the nurse’s station. “Sorry, what was your name again?”

The girl glanced back over her shoulder with a smile. “It’s Hayden.” She walked off down the hall and vanished out of the ward doors, unconcerned the way someone strolling down a mall would be.

As she moved away, Scott opened his glowing yellow eyes and he stepped out of the shadows, watching her go before heading back to his mother. Jackson was still sitting rigid, and he put a hand over Lydia’s.

“What was that all about?” Melissa asked the teenagers in the hall, concerned, already moving to head to where the Stilinskis were.

“I don’t know,” Scott replied, shaking his head. “I don’t know her or why she’s looking for Stiles.” He looked to the others. “She...I don’t know, she didn’t smell right.”

“That was okay, right?” Lydia asked, wide-eyed at him. “That we didn’t tell her where Stiles was?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott nodded vigorously. “Thanks. After what happened tonight, we can’t take chances just yet. I mean we don’t know anything. Unless you have anything to volunteer…? Jackson?”

Jackson snorted at him, glowering. “I don’t know her either. And Derek hardly told us much about what’s going on. Not that it’s any of your business, McCall.”

“ _ Jackson _ ,” Lydia glared at him.

“It’s my business when it’s Stiles,” Scott replied stubbornly in a tone that suggested that there would be no arguments on the fact. “He’s my best friend.” He turned and did a double take at Allison, who had been very quietly contemplative at what she’d just seen. “...what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean by ‘she didn’t smell right’?” she asked, studying him.

Almost instinctively, Scott wrinkled his nose as he considered. “Well...not  _ bad _ or anything like that. Like...ah, I dunno…” he frowned, trying to place it. “...like, she didn’t smell  _ normal _ , you know? Like she was...” he hesitated as he looked around the group of them. “Like us.”

“A wolf?” Allison pressed, eyes wide.

“Just…” Scott scrunched up his expression. “...Ah I can’t be sure. Just...different.”

“What about you, Jackson?” Lydia asked, looking at him.

Jackson only growled. “...I’m not sure that she’s a wolf.”

“Oh good,” Melissa murmured softly, eyes to the ceiling as though this wasn’t very much improvement, but she would take it.

“But the one outside with her definitely is.”

  
  


She climbed into the Defender easily, in that particular way of hers, slamming the door behind her and was immediately strapping herself in. Force of habit for all of them by now, the whole paranoid thing. She blamed certain people for that.

“Well?” Liam asked impatiently from the wheel. He had prowled about outside, she was sure, there was still some dampness from the wood on his scarlet sport jacket, a few leaves clinging to the hood. Probably left a scent trail everywhere. Sloppy. He’s going get scolded. But then she supposed that he had instincts that couldn’t really be suppressed.

“Kid gloves,” she responded, sighing. “He’s surrounded by some very protective people.”

“So he’s safe?” Liam prompted.

“Can’t say, given that he’s not seem to have told anyone anything,” she answered, staring at the windshield. Outside, a soft drizzle began to fall. “...I think that Huntress knows about him, though.”

“And the others?”

Hayden just shook her head. “...there’s a  _ lot  _ of wolves around here,” she added after a moment of thought. “Just like he said.”

Liam set his mouth grimly and also stared out the windshield. “Well...as long as he’s alright.” He started the vehicle. “I just don’t get why he won’t tell us anything.”

“Because we’re not supposed to  _ be _ here?” Hayden glared at him a little. “We’re all supposed to be in our homes, unpacking, getting things set and back on track. Not...hounding him. He doesn’t want us to. And it’s a insult to think he can’t manage.”

“So you would’ve let him come to a hellmouth on his own?” Liam demanded, a low growl under his throat. “You know what we’ve all heard about this town, and what’s been going on, he told us what he and his friends here have gotten into. I don’t care  _ what _ he says. Something’s happening here.”

“Insubordination,” Hayden sighed, shaking her head but not the least bit afraid.

“Leave it alone, will you, the guy saved my life, I owe him.”

The two of them drove off into the darkness of the Beacon Hills night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of double feature - head on to the next chapter


	7. Poison Apple

#  **Poison Apple**

 

PRESENT DAY

 

“How is he?” Scott whispered even as he stepped in, already knowing the answer. He had been hearing the noises of distress from Stiles before he had even knocked.

“Shh, shh…” Sheriff Stilinski waved carefully as Stiles’ head jerked slightly to the sound. The older man was standing at the side of his son’s bed, not sure if he should wake him or try to soothe him. Stiles had been sleeping fitfully, as though he were trying to hold onto peaceful sleep, but was distracted by everything.

Scott immediately stopped, falling quiet.

“Told them not to...not to…” Stiles grumbled in his sleep, still mostly sedated.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff carefully shook his son. He could tell Scott was staring on in confusion, and it was best if Stiles woke before anything else slipped out. “Stiles, you’re alright, you understand? Come on, son, wake up… You’re alright.”

Stiles cringed before he seemed to take a deep breath of air—the first gasp after drowning—and opened his eyes with a choking cough. “Dad…?”

“I’m here…” the older man squeezed his son’s hand, Stiles’ hand gripping his so tightly that Scott thought he heard bones creak. The Sheriff responded by putting his other hand over his, willing his son come to his senses. “I’ve got you.”

“Scott…” Stiles coughed, blearily blinking at his best friend, his brain starting to finish the boot sequence.

“Hey man…” Scott smiled a little uneasily. “You’re kinda freaking me out, man, what happened out there? How are you, you feeling alright?”

Stiles, who was sitting up painfully in bed, was grimacing as his father kept a glass of violently green liquid to his lips. He obediently took two big swallows and made a face as he drew away, hoarse. “Peachy.”

“Drink it all,” the sheriff admonished, glowering a little at his son.

“Scotty, you—” Stiles made a face at his father who kept making him drink—he got glowered at with a full-force Dad Stare in return—and after a few more sips, “—I told you I didn’t want a hospital.”

“You were hurt and barely conscious when I brought you, Stiles, there’s nowhere else to bring you!” Scott protested, stepping into the room completely, arms crossed over his chest.  “So um...you gonna tell us what happened in that….animal attack?” he gave him a big meaningful expression that Stiles rolled his eyes at.

When Stiles looked up, he saw his father frowning at him in a very clear silent message: _Scott doesn’t know that I know?_

In spite of himself, Stiles cringed as the ball of shame in his stomach rolled tight.

“Sheriff?” Melissa poked her head in, looking around until she spotted the Sheriff. “Mind if I have a word for a second about the paperwork?”

With his father squeezing his feet, Stiles only made a grimace more than a smile. The older Stilinski easily slipped out of the room, giving his son a meaningful expression that urged him to sort it out. And then he was gone, and Stiles was left to his own misgivings about everything.

“Stiles?” Scott prompted.

Stiles just closed his eyes and shook his head. How did he even start? When he’d fallen quiet for far too long, Scott stood a little uneasily, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Listen, Stiles…are you going to tell me what’s been going on with _you_?”

At that, Stiles opened his eyes and saw Scott staring at him with an expression of open concern. He didn’t seem particularly angry, only apprehensive.  

“I’m not making you tell me, if you don’t want to just yet,” Scott hastily added. “I just… I want you to know that whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Puzzled, Stiles’ brow furrowed. “You think that I…? How did you even…?”

“I kinda don’t need to listen to a heartbeat or have werewolf powers to know when something’s different about my best friend,” Scott replied quietly, patient. “It’s been there since we saw each other first thing. It’s still here now. And...maybe I’m not all that good at figuring things out because I can’t tell exactly what ‘it’ is right now, but it’s there.” He let out his breath. “And...I get that maybe you’re keeping something from me, and yeah it kind of stings that you’d keep me in the dark like this—” Stiles cringed again, “—but I want you to know that...you know, you can tell me things. If you want to. Whenever.”

He paused. Then Scott nodded to where the Sheriff had gone. “And the fact that your dad is here when you usually won’t let him within a mile of anything says something went on.”

Stiles sighed, leaning back heavily against the pillow, burdened by the weight in his chest. He waved it away. “Far’s you need to know, I’ve told dad everything he needs to know about what's...going on here… Like how you and your mom, she knows and...turns out dad knew a _lot_ more than he let on.” _Way more_ , Stiles added grimly in his head. _Turns out he knows more than I do._

Scott looked relieved nevertheless. “Really? Oh god, that's great.” Scott scratched his head awkwardly. “Is...that why you’re acting weird? You told your dad? You didn’t tell us that you told him?

“It’s uh...it’s just a little complicated, Scotty. I mean…” he quickly sallied on, seeing that wounded puppy dog look start to surface and he knew all of his resolve would be in danger, “look, I promise, _I swear to god_ , I will tell you. I want to tell you. I’m dying to tell you, a little bit somewhat literally—no, not literally literally, don’t give me that look. But...right now...it’s not a good time. It’s better if I tell this to you alone and in ways that...you’ll believe.”

“Come on, man, you know I’ll believe you. I mean...I’m an actual _werewolf_ for goodnessake,” he scoffed. “And you once told me gullible was tattooed on my forehead, you _know_ I’ll go with it.”

“This one’s a hell of a stretch, one that even your wolfy ass is going to need some bracing for.”

“Does it have to do with Derek?”

Stiles’ head snapped up to him again. Scott looked very uncomfortable to have to be broaching this subject, given his general opinion of Derek. “What about Derek?” Stiles asked.

“Well…” Scott shrugged, taking a careful seat at the foot of the bed, not meeting Stiles’ eyes. “It’s just that...y’know… I know you’ve been helping him out a bit before you left for camp, you guys have been a little weird, but ok I guess… And then you come back and I thought I could smell him around campus too but he didn’t come see me or Isaac; and now the night you get beat like a ragdoll in the woods, he’s there with you…” he made a face and gestured at Stiles.

Stiles let out a long, slow breath. “...how _is_ Derek?”

“He’s at Deaton’s. He’s not really come to, exactly, and having a hard time healing because of the whole alpha-to-alpha injury.” Scott turned large eyes at Stiles. “You said there were _three_ Alphas out there? You could’ve gotten killed, Stiles! What were you doing out there with him?”

“He wasn’t _with_ me,” Stiles bristled, waving an indignant hand. “He just...showed up! I don’t even know how he knew I was there. According to Isaac, he just shot off.”

“Yeah…” now Scott crossed his arms above his chest. “Isaac said that Derek sat up like he heard something or smelled something. And then he took off like a shot. I think maybe he knew the Alphas were there, Stiles. I don’t like this.”

“Look, I’m sure he would’ve told us if he knew—”

“But he _didn’t_ , Stiles!” Scott protested. “I get that he’s trying to keep things close to the vest with his pack and he doesn’t think _we’re_ pack or whatever, but his keeping things a secret is hurting other people!”

Stiles stared at him steadily. “Then what makes his secrets different from mine? You know I’ve got some but I hadn’t told anyone. How come I get a pass for that and he doesn’t?”

“That is _not_ a pass, Stiles, and you’ve only hurt _yourself_ at this point,” Scott huffed.

“Yeah _so far_ ,” Stiles grunted, trying to sit up.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” Scott cautioned, quickly trying to help him.

“No, I got it, I’ll be alright…” Stiles grumbled as he managed it with little help. “Hey don’t do that!” he warned as he saw Scott scoop up the almost empty juice glass and sniff at it. Scott recoiled with a horrible gagging noise.

“Oh my god, what _is_ that and why is your dad _feeding_ it to you?!” the wolf coughed. But he gave the glass a suspicious glance. “Weird, I feel like I’ve smelled it somewhere before.”

“It’s that health drink mom used to give me when we were kids,” Stiles grumbled, trying to fix his blankets. “Don’t you remember? Have some, it’ll be good for you. Just hold your breath when you do.”

“Ew…” Scott wrinkled his nose, pushing it away just as the Sheriff walked back in, causing him to straighten up. “Oh. Hey, sir, Stiles told me that he told you. All the stuff about...yeah.” He gestured to himself and quickly offered his best puppy smile. “So...that’s what it is right now.”

Sheriff Stilinski only smiled wryly, patting his shoulder heavily. “I’m with Melissa when I say that I don’t much care whatever you turn into, as long as you keep it together, and stay safe out there, that’s what I care about. And that you and Stiles don’t get into too much trouble.” He sent his son a pointed stare and Stiles cringed. It was amazing how even after a year of intensive, rigorous training from considerably frightening people, it’s his father’s stare that’ll still have him crumpling.

“Speaking of trouble…” Stiles carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed, “Is everyone else alright?”

“Chris Argent’s girl is outside,” his father crossed his arms. “She says they’re both fine.”

Scott carefully eyed the Sheriff for such a casual reference to the Argents, but added, “And if you mean Derek, well...no. I mean...you said they were Alpha werewolves. And...he’s not doing so hot.”

“Did you take him to Alan Deaton?” the Sheriff asked, and Scott’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates at him.

After a few moments of fishfacing at Stiles, who merely gestured tiredly for Scott to continue, Scott struggled to acclimate to speaking about this so casually to local law enforcement as he replied, “Ah...yeah I think his Betas did. Jackson said that Deaton said he was better than he ought to be given the circumstances, but still not good.”

“Right.” Stiles groped for his hoodie nearby as he stood up. “I need to go to him.”

“Whoa whoa, where are you going?” Scott immediately put a hand out to stop him. “Stiles, you nearly got your throat ripped out there, you’re not going anywhere.”

“I agree with Scott,” the Sheriff nodded, ignoring the almost exaggeratedly aghast and betrayed expression on his son’s face. “It’s a bit too soon. I’m sure they’ve got it under control over there, you need to stand down for a little bit, Stiles.”

“But I can help—” Stiles protested and his father hustled Scott out of the room.

“You’ve helped enough, Stiles,” the Sheriff replied, frowning, looking at Scott. “I need to have a talk with my son, Scott, you go on and make sure everything’s okay out there for a little while, will you? Tell Allison I want to talk to her father about what happened out there.” He tiredly ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll need help figuring out what to say about all this in an...official capacity.”

“Oh yes,” Scott nodded, a little stunned, flabbergasted and still not sure how to deal with this. “Sure, Sheriff. Uh, Stiles—”

“I’m _going_ to Deaton’s,” Stiles told him with threatening finality. “After...this.” He pouted at his father like a five year old, and received a glower in return.

“Sure Stiles,” Scott sighed, two parts fond, two parts exasperated, and he left the room.

Stiles reached into his pocket and took out the pebble he’d earlier given to Allison, rubbing the sigil so it activated. Stiles could hear Scott talking to Allison again, but now knew he would not hear this conversation.

The Sheriff shook his head, gesturing to the pebble. “You’re going to start forgetting those things all over the place, I can feel it. Your mother used to leave them around everywhere. People kept asking if we were landscaping the yard.”

“They’re handy,” Stiles protested defensively.

But then his father crossed his arms. “You didn’t tell me you were sealed.”

Feeling heat creep up into his face, Stiles crossed his arms in a remarkably similar fashion as he turned away. “So I am. I don’t see why it matters, it’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” his father raised his eyebrows. “Stiles, you could’ve died out there tonight. What were you thinking taking on _three_ werewolves? And from what Scott says, _Alpha_ werewolves.”

“I didn’t know there were going to _be_ Alpha werewolves,” Stiles retorted, his skin prickling with tension. “I went to the woods like I said to find Erica and Boyd. One of those guys showed up, and pretty much told me they had them. He came at me, going first. I fought back. I had to…” he gestured to himself lamely, “...let him think he had the upper hand for a second, and just when I was about to get the upper hand, _Derek_ over there—”

“Yes, Derek,” the Sheriff dragged a hand down his face. “Of course it is, but that’s yet another conversation. Stiles, is this going to be another problem? One of the many, apparently?” Tiredly, he sat down on the chair across the bed.

That heat was starting to reach his ears. “It’s not… I’m not trying to cause problems.” _Oh god, I hope not_ … He stared at the worn expression on his father’s face, heart hammering. “Dad...I _swear,_ I’m just trying to—”

“Hey,” his father looked up and held onto his clenched hands. “Hey. I get it. I understand. Part of the job. I’ve been through this before on both sides of the fence, Stiles. I just...I’m a little rusty at it, and this time there’s just...a whole lot more at stake. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I understand that,” Stiles responded, hands shaking. “I’m not trying to make things worse, I’m not. I just...the things that happened, and I’m not trying to get everyone involved just yet, I _just_ wanted to—”

“Just breathe,” his father’s firm tone got his heart rate slowing. “I know what you were trying to do. And what you’re _still_ trying to do. I’m just trying to say...that if you keep this many secrets, you won’t be able to _carry_ them all by yourself. You’ve got to tell someone. You have to let people help you. They’re willing to. I don’t care how much training you’ve had, this is now and this is different. You’re not meant to do it alone. Your mother certainly didn’t.”

Stiles was staring at his hands, and tried to stop the shaking. “...I just...I’m trying.” He looked at his father. “The things that happened during the camp… I can’t even begin to explain just now. I can tell you...bits and pieces. But there’s just so much of it. I don’t even know which parts will be important and which won’t. And stuff that I don’t think I can even start to talk about.” He laughed a little bitterly. “...you were right when you said it’d change me. Sometimes I wonder...what would happen if I came back and everybody could tell that I wasn’t me. If that was a good or bad thing. Scott could tell.”

“I think I’d know my own son, you’re still you,” his father quirked a corner of his mouth slightly. “Just...upgraded.”

Stiles just sighed and scrubbed his face tiredly. “...shouldn’t have tried to do this so soon, but… Erica and Boyd are out there. I’ve missed so much time I just feel like I have to do something. I can’t just stand here. Something in me’s telling me to go out there and do something about this.”

“You can, and you will, but not alone. You can at least start by telling me, or Scott.” His father looked at him intently. “You told me you wanted to do this for yourself and your friends. Your pack. Then you’ve got to let them help.”

There was a moment of silence between them, as Stiles slowly, almost hesitantly nodded in response, as though acknowledging the truth in that statement. The Sheriff sighed and rested his elbows on his knees. “...I miss your mother. Times like this, I wish she was here, she might be able to explain it better.”

“You’re explaining it just fine, dad,” Stiles muttered with a tired smile. “And for the record, you’ve no idea how often I said that to myself when I was out there. Some warning of that kind of training would’ve been nice. Ended up winging it.”

“I may not know what kind of training you’ve had,” his father continued, “but I think I know enough to think that you getting sealed is counterproductive.” He looked serious, gesturing to Stiles’ chest. “Why did they do that to you? Tell me that at least.”

Stiles put a hand over his chest, feeling the heat of the sigil pulsing. He smiled at his father. “I asked them to do this to me.”

“You...asked them to put that on you?” his father looked skeptical. “I didn’t realize it was that serious. Why? How are you supposed to do your job like that?”

There was a short, and terrible pause. Stiles breathed out, feeling the pinch of something deep in his chest. He looked at his father, hoping he doesn’t react badly.

“There’s something in me, dad. And it has to stay in there until I’m ready for it. ...until everyone else is too.”

  


When Derek started to become aware of his surroundings, it was to a sound somewhere in the distance. A steady staccato rhythm that was not too far, but not close enough. It was agitated, stressed, and bobbing around somewhere far away. Behind that sound, was the murmur of voices, muffled. As though he were trying to hear through several layers of foam. It was strange, then, that he could not hear or understand the voices, but that beating came through with such clarity.

He had been dreaming of strange things. It was the kind of dream where his lungs burned—was he dreaming of the fire again?--and he struggled to gasp for breath. But instead of feeling that fire, it was as though his mouth was filled with water, and the burn in his lungs was of the struggle to breathe.

Clips of foggy memories, being pressed limp to a body between a barrier of cloth and water. Brown eyes that looked at him with such fire. The strain of muscle and so much pain. And so much urgency. He was supposed to be doing something. He was supposed to be finding something.

It rang somewhere in his hindbrain, insisting to be heard but the beating was drowning it out. He was reaching out to clutch a hand, drenched in the rain. Lightning was singing over his ears, and he couldn’t hear through the downpour.

“ _Derek_!!”

A hand grasped at his shoulder and everything whirled through his mind. Piercing agony penetrated the back of his neck, striking through his mind and body--everything melting away and rushing back to dark places of his mind that seemed to disappear.

Consciousness was coming back. He floated to shallower waters.

He could hear Stiles. Stiles--who had been in the middle of the fight between him and Ennis. He remembered the fight, but it came in bits and pieces. He couldn’t remember winning it either, just a lot of pain, slowly ebbing...spidery hands over him...and that familiar voice and the scent of ozone around him.

“Just let him drink it, alright?!” came his muffled, agitated tone.

“What _is_ it?” came Jackson’s uncertain voice.

“Look, just go with me for a minute here, or do you really want him to take another couple of days just _closing up_ all those—”

“Calm down, let me give it to him.” Deaton was calm, reassuring.

Derek jolted awake with a gasp--doing that was a mistake; something went down the wrong way and he was choking. Hands were on him immediately. He opened his eyes, knowing they were blazing red, waiting for them to focus so he could see beyond the blurs of color.

“Derek!” he heard Isaac gasp, hands on him. “Derek, calm down, it’s us!”

“Derek,” came Deaton’s steadier tone. “You’re alright.”

“Well, not yet, but he will be.” A pair of hands laid on him--there was that pang of recognition and the scent of petrichor again—and he knew Stiles was bringing something to his lips. “Here, drink this right now.”

“What—” was as far as he got before an oppressive smell filled his nostrils and his mouth filled with something that tasted like a noxious combination of over-boiled leaves and chemical waste. He managed an inadvertent gulp before he was coughing and spluttering.

“All of it,” Stiles insisted.

“Get that away from me!” he rasped, trying to push him and that horrific liquid away.

“Let up a little, Stiles,” Deaton cautioned. There was a grumble and Stiles was crossing his arms, clearly displeased as he stared over at Derek. Next to him was the ‘good doctor’ himself, and a very worried looking Isaac. Not far was Jackson, standing with Danny, and Scott, who was glowering from a doorway.

“What happened,” Derek coughed, trying to speak through the unpleasant taste in his mouth. “Where’s Ennis?”

“Chris and Allison fended them off,” Scott replied.

Derek coughed again, squinting and now aware that a wealth of bandages surrounded him. “Them?”

“Three alphas,” Scott replied again, looking displeased. “They said there were three of them. After Ennis came, two more came out of the woods. I don’t think you were conscious at the time.”

“The Argents...kept them back.” Deaton busied himself with putting some of the supplies away, and Derek didn’t miss how he glanced to Stiles.

Stiles had been noticeably unwilling to talk after forcing him to drink, and the teen was standing with his arms crossed, almost petulant. But there was a shiftiness in him that showed that he might’ve dearly wanted to speak, and was, for once, holding himself back.

“What…” Derek rasped at him, glaring, “Were you even _doing_ out there?! I told you not to get involved with any of this!”

“Well obviously since your efforts weren’t going so well, I thought being helpful and looking for Erica and Boyd would’ve been _appreciated_ ,” Stiles replied with scathingly.

“You could’ve gotten killed if I hadn’t gotten there,” Derek snapped back angrily. “You were already bleeding by the time I arrived!” He could see Stiles still bandaged up, the wraps on his knuckles disappearing into his sleeves, and around his neck vanishing into his scarlet hoodie. He wondered how long he was asleep, because though Stiles’ face sported bruises, they were fading.

Stiles frowned. “I’ve gotten through worse. Besides, right now, between you and me, who looks more like roadkill?”

“Yeah, because I got there in time…” Derek snapped, though without his usual strength as he tried to settle himself. His wolf was getting restless, and he hated that he was still healing. Ennis _was_ still an alpha. Pain sang through his every movement, and he knew it would still be some time before he could fully recover. Fortunately, he thought, as he flexed his hands a little, assessing himself, it didn’t seem to be as bad as he initially thought it would be.

He raised his eyes again and saw Scott looking at Stiles in confusion and curiosity. He wasn’t sure what that was about, but Scott saw him looking at his direction and decided to speak. “What’s going on out there, Derek? Did you know those Alphas were there? Because...I mean I agree that Stiles shouldn’t have gone out there by himself—”

“You’re supposed to be on _my side_ —” Stiles began.

“--but if you _knew_ this was out there and didn’t tell anyone, you were keeping us in the dark about how serious this situation is, man!” Scott frowned. “Any of us could’ve gone out there not knowing!”

“And by the way,” Stiles gestured impatiently, “if there were multiple Alphas in play here, what in god’s name made you think that you, Isaac and Jackson could tackle this by yourselves?! I mean…far’s the team goes…” he trailed off a little when the two in question bestowed baleful glares at him.

“I didn’t _know_ how many of them there were,” Derek replied in a low, seething tone. “I just knew there were strong wolves out there.”

“And…” Stiles gestured again, in disbelief, “...again, you thought that you and one and a half Betas could manage to deal with that?”

“Oh go to hell, Stilinski, I can take care of myself,” Jackson shot back. “I wasn’t the one that got beat like a rag doll in the woods!”

“Thank you for acknowledging that you are, in fact, the half-a-Beta,” Stiles replied coolly. “I mean at least Isaac here logged the experience time with the team, he’s got tenure, contributed his share.” To which the curly haired wolf smirked a little, as though rather pleased at the affirmation that he did outrank the newest wolf.

“This is _barely_ a team, and another distracted Omega and a human wouldn’t have added so much difference anyway,” Derek cut cleanly back, though he could hear the weakening in his own voice, still too injured to get entirely worked up.

“That’s enough,” Deaton said loudly as Scott and Stiles started raising outraged voices at the same time. “This isn’t the time to be squabbling like this. There are bigger problems to deal with. This can’t continue;  those Alphas are here for a reason.”

Stiles seemed to shoot Deaton an irritated and suspicious expression, and Derek realized that Stiles now _knew_ Derek had been giving the veterinarian a heads up while. It was just going to snowball, so he decided that since it was already all out there, he could at least make them see how stupid they were being trying to get worked into the mess.

“Well, if I knew what that reason was, I would’ve dealt with it,” Derek growled. “Don’t you get it? There was nothing I could really tell you without a solution. Isaac and Jackson were still helping me do recon and try to figure out why they are all even here.”

There was an impatient noise from Stiles, who crossed his arms and leaned back on a table, staring at him. “Well so far, so obvious: it was probably to mess up the local pack’s dynamics. They have Erica and Boyd.”

Derek huffed and shook his head slowly. “I knew they’re in the area that Erica and Boyd had gone to and that’s why they disappeared. I don’t even know if—” he stopped for a moment, glancing at Isaac and Jackson, who looked apprehensive. “...I haven’t felt anything. I couldn’t really sense them, but I didn’t feel them...pass. So I knew they had to be alive. And if they’re keeping them alive, it’s for a reason.”

“They’re alive, that much is true,” Stiles agreed. “Ennis said as much before you came.”

“Don’t suppose he happened to outline their plans, if you know so much, Stilinski?” Jackson made a face at Stiles, whose expression did not so much as change.

“No,” Stiles responded, oddly calm and sure. “But Alphas don’t group up the way they do. That’s not normal behavior for any Alpha, let alone three of them. What I saw--they didn’t behave as though they were taking cues from each other either. They worked together...like Betas do. Which could only mean…” he looked outside, his expression tightening. “...they have an Alpha too. The biggest and baddest of the group. What’s out there could be a group of Alphas. More than the three we just saw. With one leader, who’s stronger than any of them.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“...hell of a leaping theory to make,” Isaac tried, a little weakly.

“He’s not wrong…” Deaton responded calmly, eyeing Derek. “The idea fits, given what we’ve got so far. Do you have any ideas?”

Derek tried to tear his gaze away from Stiles’ form and glanced at Deaton. After a pause, he shook his head. “I...assumed as much but… I don’t think I wanted to believe it until I saw it myself. This doesn’t happen ever. Alphas don’t do this. It doesn’t make sense to me either.”

“Why would they want Erica and Boyd then?” Scott asked, baffled. “What would a group of Alphas, if they’re all that way, want with two Betas?” He shifted his glance between everyone uneasily. “...are they going to turn them into Alphas too?”

Derek shook his head. “Then they wouldn’t have picked up two. Just one. And make whoever it is kill their Alpha to inherit the title. ...and I trained Erica and Boyd well but… they’re not strong enough to do that.”

“Yeah, they’re not the type to outright commit murder either,” Stiles muttered. “They wanted to get stronger, not ‘ _go straight to absolute power, do not pass GO, do not collect 200 dollars_ .’ That’s _Peter’s_ jurisdiction.” He made a face.

“Again--then why get Erica and Boyd?” Scott asked.

“Obviously…” and now Derek felt Stiles’ eyes settle upon him again. “...to draw _their_ Alpha out.”

And that much, Derek realized, he already knew as well. Knew it the moment he saw Ennis in the woods, had known it in the back of his mind when he wondered why such powerful wolves would be in the territory, and had taken his two Betas. When his gaze finally met Stiles’, he was surprised to find no hardness there. Just a searching look behind the surety.

Stiles added, “...they have Ennis in their fold, and you said you and he had history. Since you know what that is and we don’t, tell us, Derek: do they want you dead? Or do they want you with them?”

His Betas looked apprehensive, tense, and unsure. Scott was giving him that expression that very clearly said, “So this is all because of _you_ again?”

Deaton was, as he usually was, noncommittal; whatever was going to happen, he’s probably seen it before, or knows even more than he did Then Derek’s eyes landed on Stiles again.

And in spite of the changes that he had felt come upon Stiles…when he met those whiskey-colored eyes, he felt something inside him settle, weighted, grounded, holding him still upon the moving earth.

“You’re in over your head,” Stiles barely sounded the words, staring at him as though he were the only presence in the world; no accusation to be heard in his tone. “Give us something to work with here, and maybe we _all_ have a shot of getting through this one.”

And whatever Scott may have thought of this, he glanced at his best friend and said nothing, before turning his attention to Derek, in silent declaration that for now, he was willing to work together with them.

“For now...I only have a name,” Derek finally said, looking down at his hands, flexing his clawed hands, wondering how quickly he can become fighting fit. “I’ve been trying to find out as much as I can about what we’re up against, stemming from that one name. ...I’ve heard it once before.”

“And that name would be…?” Scott asked.

Derek let out his breath. “Deucalion.”

And this time, Derek was _sure_ he saw that he saw the look that Deaton and Stiles exchanged. And now he was absolutely certain: he definitely wasn’t the only one in this pack guilty of keeping a hell of a lot of secrets that they should be coming clean about.

  


In hindsight, maybe screaming “ _You need to move what’s left of your pack out of that hole you’ve got them in!_ ” at Derek was not the very best way to get into his good side after they’d decidedly been thrashed and were in this tenuous state of cooperation, Stiles decided.

But it was true! he thought grumpily to himself, playing designated driver again. Given the state they were all in, staying in the dilapidated train car depot that this pack had partway been calling home is ridiculous.

He currently had one very unhappy Alpha in his passenger’s side and one skittish Beta (Isaac) in the backseat. Scott had left to speak to the Argents because of course he was going to go. Danny and Jackson were tailing them in Jackson’s Porsche. Deaton had released Derek with orders to keep activity to a minimum while he’s recovering, and it was not putting Derek in a good mood. There were many pointed comments about people not out wandering where they shouldn’t be, to which Stiles had to shoot back and say that between them, _he_ got them out of it. Which led to Derek saying that there wouldn’t even be an ‘it’ if Stiles had just listened, but realistically, when did that ever work? And one yelled thing led to another and quite frankly—

“Stop muttering under your breath, none of it even makes sense,” Derek growled.

Stiles glowered back at him. “No one told you to listen.”

“There’s no choice, I could’ve heard you from a mile away,” Derek shot back.

“...no you couldn’t,” Isaac murmured, sounding confused, unwisely from the backseat.

Something about that made Derek fall silent again, brooding out the window. Stiles reached over and swatted at his hand. “Stop picking at your bandages.”

“I don’t _need_ them,” Derek shot back, hackles up.

“Until those close up—”

“I think I know more about werewolf physiology than you,” Derek snapped firmly.

Stiles had already opened his mouth to talk but suddenly snapped it shut and turned back to the road, mouth in a grim line and tensely gripping the wheel. Derek narrowed his eyes and turned back to the window.

Isaac shifted uncomfortably. His phone buzzed.

 _What’s going on in there?_ Jackson demanded (it was amazing how he could make a text sound like that).

 _I don’t like it here,_ Isaac typed back unhappily, keeping his head down.

“So are you going to start talking or what?” Stiles finally asked. He received no answer, as expected, so he continued, “Look, we can try to play me stupid a little longer, but I’m pretty sure that ‘a name’ is not _the only_ thing that you’ve come up with all your brooding, stalking, and harassing Danny for research. If you don’t want to talk in front of Scott, you can at least tell me, so when I _do_ start looking for something—”

“How about _you_ start talking?” Derek suddenly responded, staring hard at him, and it was honestly a first for everyone in the vehicle. “If we’re going to talk about playing each other being stupid, then you must think I’m a hell of a lot dumber than I am.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?” He was managing to keep his heart steady and he knew it, so if he could keep it that way—

“That thing you’re doing right now,” Derek replied coldly. He gestured a little to Stiles’ chest. “That.”

Stiles’ hands gripped the wheel so tight he was sure his nails were going to leave marks. “What?! Speak in full sentences!”

“How are your knuckles white but your heart rate is registering a dead calm?!” Derek demanded, Stiles immediately easing his grip. “Why does it stay that way _all the time_ ? You’ve smelled different, you’ve... _moved_ different… Everytime you go anywhere, no one hears anything, it blanks out. And you—” Derek hesitated for all of a second, “-- _how_ did you find your way to where the Alphas are waiting?! It was like...” and his breath caught, “...it’s like you know things you’re not supposed to.”

Stiles turned to look at him now, eyes wide. “Wait...you don’t think—”

“I don’t know where you went all summer,” Derek’s tone had steel in it. “But I know you’re not the Stiles we had before then.”

“Derek, what are you talking about?” Isaac asked, sounding almost afraid.

Stiles’ breath was coming fast. He was losing control, and his heart rate sped up. “What you...you were following me?”

“With all that’s happening, I needed to know whose side you were on,” Derek stared stonily ahead. “I needed to know...if I could trust you. And right now…” he let out his breath, flexing his claws again, seemingly able to look anywhere but him. “...I don’t know if I can.”

There was an entirely terrible pause.

“...is this why you won’t let me help?” Stiles asked in a rush, staring at him. “Because...because for some _stupid_ reason… Derek, I wasn’t even _here_ all summer! You think...what, that I’m in cahoots with whoever took Boyd and Erica?!”

It was too late now, there was no control here. His heart was hammering and he knew it. It was the first time he’d dropped that guard so far down and there was no picking it back up. Not when he was about to be called a traitor.

Strangely, this was when Derek met his eyes again. His expression was strange, one Stiles doesn’t recall ever seeing before. “You’re wrong. I didn’t think that for a minute. But that doesn’t mean I can trust you right now.”

Stiles swallowed, eyes flickering over the Alpha’s face, trying to search Derek’s expression. He hesitated for what felt like forever, wondering if this was a good idea. He hadn’t even told _Scott_ , for god’s sake and given the complexities… “Derek…you can trust me. You _have_ to trust me. I can’t explain everything right now but...you can trust me, okay? I’ve told you that before, you remember that, right?”

“That was the you before you came back,” Derek replied quietly.

“I’m still that person,” Stiles replied.

“Are you…?”

Silence fell. The atmosphere in the jeep was heavy suddenly. Isaac shifted uncomfortably, quietly tapping out, _Save me, this is awkward, I feel like this is not the conversation I should be third-wheeling on._

 _Tell us what’s happening!_ Jackson texted back.

_What, can’t you hear for yourselves?_

_No, we can’t hear_ **_anything_ ** _from that car, we’ve been pissed since we left!_

Isaac’s brow furrowed at that. Weird, how can they not hear when they were right behind them…? He glanced behind them to see the Porsche right there tailing them.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Derek finally muttered, brooding out the window.

As he fell silent, Stiles stared at him, watching the streetlights flash off the shadows of his profile. Derek, who had been broken too many times that he had shields that he didn’t even need. Or maybe he did need all of it. Even for Stiles.

Especially for Stiles.

“Yeah, well…” Stiles muttered, turning back to the road, “...right back at you.”

Isaac frowned. “Hey, you guys, Jackson says he can’t—”

“ _Stiles, look out!!_ ”

Derek didn’t even finish the sentence before Stiles was braking and trying to swerve so hard that the jeep lurched. The vehicle swung around as tires squealed onto the asphalt, smoke covering the windshield. Heart racing, Stiles’ senses became hyperaware as the world seemed to go into slow motion for an instant.

He saw it, right before Derek’s arm blocked his field of vision, before the smoke and the burnt rubber took over the windows: There was a figure standing at the road, shrouded in shadow, eyes glowing. Not red, he was sure. Arm outstretched to the jeep, hand in a menacing, clawing gesture, before there was that familiar vibrating rattle of preternatural energy coming into impact against his personal shields—and onto the jeep. The vehicle received the full force.

And the next thing he knew, Derek had his whole body wrapped around him, and there was glass shattering as bodies smashed through it. He tasted asphalt and there was no wind in his lungs, and all he heard was Derek’s groan of pain.

“Are you okay?! Are you guys okay?!” he heard Isaac gasp, clawed and shifted from the adrenaline, scrabbling to all fours from where he’d also jumped out of the jeep and into the road. Isaac’s cut forehead was bleeding but healing rapidly.

“Stiles!” he heard Derek pant from next to him, but Stiles rapidly pushed himself off the ground and rolled over to look where he saw that figure in the road.

It was gone.

“Oh shit,” he spat, shaking and trying to get up. “Oh _shit_!”

“What was that?!” Isaac asked, obviously shaken.

“Stiles, don’t get up,” Derek commanded.

“Seriously, did you guys see that?!” Stiles asked, eyes wide, scrambling up to his elbows breathlessly. “Did you see it? In the road?”

“Yeah,” Derek glowered, eyes scarlet, looking to where Stiles was gesturing. “It ran after it...threw the jeep.”

“ _How_ did it throw the jeep?” Isaac demanded shakily. “We never even hit it!”

Stiles shook his head, trying to get his breath back. “It threw something _at_ the jeep, just a short blast. Whatever it is, if it wanted to hurt us, trust me, we’d be hurt. That was a warning shot. Probably trying to scare us or—”

“Are you okay?!” Jackson was demanding, running over—they didn’t even realize the Porsche had come to a stop behind them.

Derek only gave him a glance over before looking back at Stiles as though he wanted to ask him something, but even as he reached out, Stiles was already heading to where he’d seen the figure. “Stiles, what are you doing?!”

“Go on ahead to wherever the new place is!” Stiles called back as he trotted down the road, squatting down. “I gotta get a look at this!”

“Do you just _not_ have any self preservation at all?!” Derek demanded, storming after him.

“You literally have _no room to talk_ ,” Stiles muttered, intently looking at the ground and carefully hovering his fingers over it, searching.

“What are you even looking for?!” Derek scoffed staring at him completely bewildered.

Stiles waved him off, distracted. “Get out of here, whatever or whoever it was, there’s got to be a trace somewhere, so don’t ruin the evidence by stomping around all over it…”

“I don’t believe this…” Jackson raised his eyes to the sky, frustrated. “What is going _on_ here?!”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Derek huffed, arms crossed, glowering at Stiles, who was _still_ studying the pavement like it held secrets of the universe.

Stiles suddenly stiffened. “Derek,” he hissed, waving a hand behind him, pointing at the road with the other. “Derek, can you see that?”

Derek swatted the fluttering hand away but squinted at the pavement where Stiles was pointing. Eyes glowing, he saw the faintest shimmer of something slick on the ground. With shaking hands, Stiles reached out to touch something that looked like a wet scrap.

“What is this…?” he muttered, and Derek grabbed his wrist to stop him. Stiles whipped around to look at him. “What?!”

“You’re the one who said not to mess up evidence,” Derek muttered, getting a little closer. And the moment he did, he recognized it as the scent came up to him. “....Boyd…?” In spite of all misgivings, he took it with his fingers, staring at the scarlet that dripped onto them.

“No way…” Isaac stared. “No way, that thing didn’t look anything like Boyd! It wasn’t even a wolf!”

“Then it left this behind for us,” Stiles muttered grimly. He looked to Derek. “...what do you think…? Is he…?”

“This is fresh…” Derek replied, glowering down at the scrap of cloth. “...They’re alive. Boyd and Erica. They’re still alive.” Stiles got up and walked away, face grave and contemplative.

“So you think that thing was sending a message?” Danny asked from next to Jackson. “Attacking you and telling you they have them?”

“But we already knew that,” Jackson said, confused. “Why would the Alphas do this? Like...a warning shot? Trying to stop us from looking for them?”

“But I thought they took them as _bait_?” Isaac asked, bewildered.

“The Alphas didn’t do this,” Stiles replied with finality, his back to them as he stared at his Jeep. “This was someone else. Someone with a different message. ...I think it’s someone else trying to stop us from going further.”

Derek got up and turned to look to him. “What are you saying? Someone else who knows what’s going on?”

Stiles glowered at his dented jeep and didn’t answer or move for a while. “...you guys go get in the Porsche and head on back to where you’re gonna hunker down for the night.”

“What?!” Jackson stared at him.

“And you?” Derek asked, eyes burning.

“I’m going home,” Stiles replied with finality, without moving.

“You were the one who insisted to come,” Isaac reminded him.

“Well, now I’m not. I gotta go home and tell my dad not to freak out. Get baby fixed, because god knows I’ll need him. You guys go on.”

Derek stood rooted to the spot, like him, appearing to not believe his words for a minute. Stiles couldn’t blame him. He tore his gaze away from the jeep and met Derek’s gaze. He made an impatient, expectant hand gesture. “Well?? You’re getting what you want, I’m leaving you alone. Get going. If Scott swings by to yell at you, tell him to come to my place.”

For a moment there was a pause, and Derek strode up to Stiles and stood next to him, as if the sheer force of his glower was enough to compel him to...to do _something_ but as Stiles stared calmly back at him, he had the suspicion that not even Derek knew what he wanted him to do.

“This isn’t over,” Derek warned him, staring balefully at him even as he finally turned away to look to his Betas.

“Mmmhmm, I’m sure it isn’t…” Stiles only smirked slightly as he looked back to his jeep, crossing his arms.

“You going to be alright?” Danny asked, a little worried at Stiles and the Jeep. “That thing gonna get you home?”

“He’ll be fine, but he’ll be better when I get him home,” Stiles absently scrubbed his hair. “...this is gonna cost me allowance I don’t _have_ …”

Derek seemed to take a last long look at him before getting into Jackson’s car. Stiles still stood inspecting his jeep, looking aggrieved. “Get out of here, Stiles,” Derek told him. “ _Now_. Don’t hang around.”

The only response was Stiles waving them away. The teen waited until the door slammed, and the sound of the Porsche died away in the distance before he glanced back to where that bloody scrap had been, and then them back to the dent in his jeep.

He glared at it. From where he stood, he could clearly see what he had been trying to block the others from seeing. When the angle was just right, you’d see the faintest glimmers of energy still fizzling away from the impact site on the jeep. It was a familiar radiation.

Letting out his breath, he stomped to the driver’s side and climbed in. It took a couple of tries, but when his Jeep finally started, he backed out of the side of the road and prepared to head home.

 _Dammit, Raeken,_ Stiles snarled inwardly. _What the hell are you trying to do?!_

He sped off for home, hoping to _god_ this didn’t mean what he thought it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of the double feature. I'll try to make things less boring. There'll be some action in the next one, I promise.


End file.
